


The Bridges Between Us

by courtingstars (FallingSilver)



Series: The Rainbow Connection [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi Seijuurou/Kuroko Tetsuya Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, GoM fluff, Implied Kagami Taiga/Kuroko Tetsuya, Light Angst, Tears and Hugs, deep platonic bonds, possible cavity warning, precious rainbow nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4547418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingSilver/pseuds/courtingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you need to say, “I’m sorry,” but you have no idea where to start. After the Winter Cup finals, Kuroko meets with the rest of the Generation of Miracles. But old wounds and a year of separation have damaged their former friendships. The distance between them may be too far to bridge—and at least one of them has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transparent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madridistagoblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madridistagoblue/gifts), [ignite_pass_tetsuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignite_pass_tetsuya/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by Kuroko, and Akashi, and the Generation of Miracles. Because their friendship, complicated though it may be, has changed my life. It was also inspired by madridistagoblue, and to the Kuroko to her Akashi, ignite_pass_tetsuya.
> 
> For all my notes on this fic, please refer to my Tumblr.

_“Why are there so many songs about rainbows,_

_And what’s on the other side?”_

_–The Rainbow Connection_

* * *

 

For several days afterward, Kuroko thought it was a dream.

Not the moment when he passed the ball to Kagami, to score the final basket in the Winter Cup championship. Not the part where his team all stood together to receive the trophy. Not even the part where Akashi came up to him and said that it was his victory, with tears shimmering in his red eyes. (Though that had been surreal as well—mostly because Akashi-kun seemed like a different person again.)

No, the dreamlike part happened later. After the reporters and photographers stopped swarming around them, Seirin’s team headed toward their locker room. Most of them were already chatting with friends and family who attended the game. They had been so eager to congratulate the players that they tracked them down in the halls of the arena.

It happened then, as Kuroko passed by a side hallway. A flash of color flickered in his peripheral vision. He turned to look, only to have his heart jump into his throat.

His former teammates stood in a corner—the five members of the Generation of Miracles. Even in the shadowy hall, they resembled a rainbow, with their heads clustered together. They looked as though they were talking. Now they all looked at him, and Kise waved and gave a strained sort of smile, and Aomine nodded in that gruff way that said, “Get over here.”

At which point Kuroko whirled around to find Kagami, to let him know where he was going. But his partner was talking with Himuro and Alex, and he didn’t want to interrupt. So he slipped away from his new team, alone, to rejoin the Generation of Miracles.

The five of them had more presence than ever, somehow. As Kuroko stood among them, he felt the difference even more keenly than before he won the championship. He was still a shadow, and they were all brilliant lights.

One thing had changed: he could no longer read their expressions. Back when they were teammates, Kuroko had memorized every nuance of emotion, the meaning behind each subtle movement of their eyes and mouths. He’d been able to read all five of them, most of the time. Now he didn’t recognize the looks on their faces.

More proof of the distance that still stretched between them.

They were standing together, though, even after everything that had happened. They had specifically called Kuroko over, to talk…

_No, don’t think that way. Don’t expect anything. Whatever happens is fine._

_You’ve put them through enough._

“Hey, Kurokocchi! Congratulations.” Kise gestured to the medal around his neck. Kuroko touched it without thinking. The metal chilled his palm.

“Thank you,” he said. He couldn’t tell if he was managing a smile or not.

He felt transparent. Not in the way he usually did, like he’d faded into the background and no one could see him. Instead, with these five familiar pairs of eyes trained on him, Kuroko felt as though his skin had become as clear as glass, so they could see straight through it. Like they could see the way his heart was racing, and all the scarred and broken places, the shape of his most secret hopes…

The things he still wanted.

He couldn’t read them. But maybe they could read him, too well. He swallowed, and his pulse pounded in his ears.

 “It was a great game,” Midorima added, much to Kuroko’s surprise. Aomine grunted, apparently in agreement.

Kuroko opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. Especially when one of his opponents was standing right there. His lips twitched a few times, before he decided to just repeat himself. “Thank you.”

He took a breath, trying to slow his unsteady heart. He was so physically exhausted that he was surprised it could still pound so hard.

There was a pause.

“So, um…” Kise bit the corner of his lip, then just laughed. “Huh.”

“This is kind of awkward, isn’t it,” Murasakibara said, in his droning voice.

Aomine gave a dry smile. “‘Kind of’?”

“We haven’t all been together like this since—well, before we graduated from Teikou,” Midorima said, adjusting his glasses. They all knew what he had been about to say: _“Since Kuroko quit the basketball club.”_

“Well, except for that one time a week ago,” Kise chimed in, making an obvious effort to sound cheerful. Then his face paled, as he apparently realized his mistake.

The image of a pair of scissors filled Kuroko’s mind, and he flinched. He wasn’t the only one, either… A twitch of movement drew his gaze, and he looked to see Akashi wearing a distinct expression of discomfort. The captain’s face was nearly colorless, creased with tension. Kuroko had never seen him look so ill at ease before.

Their eyes met. Once again, Kuroko noticed that Akashi’s irises were both red, just as they had been during his first two years at Teikou. Akashi was the only person who hadn’t spoken yet, Kuroko realized. Which was extremely strange, for him.

All at once, Kuroko felt the urge to say something. He didn’t know what, but the impulse tugged at him too strongly to ignore.

Before he could open his mouth, Midorima coughed into his hand. “Well, anyway. We had no intention of keeping you, Kuroko. You must be on your way to celebrate with your team.”

“Oh. Yes, I believe that is the case. Though I don’t know where we’re going…”

Kuroko let his voice trail off. Words blinked inside his brain, like a tiny string of lights—words he already knew he couldn’t say. It would have been too cruel, given the circumstances.

_“You could all come too.”_

He gave an uneasy sort of shrug, and left it at that.

There was another pause. In the silence, a few of the others exchanged looks over his head. Kuroko noticed right away—he was used to observing what tall people were doing, even when they thought he couldn’t see—and was about to ask what was going on, when Kise spoke again.

“So.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “We were talking, and uh… There’s this pretty good coffee shop near here. The owner has kind of a thing for me, I guess, so I get all the free drinks I want. My friends, too. I mean, it’s not like we _have_ to go there, but that makes it cheaper. Like if we want food and stuff? But we could do something else…”

Kuroko blinked, confused, while Aomine rolled his eyes.

“You’re babbling, idiot.” He turned to Kuroko. “We were talking about hanging out sometime. Maybe after New Year’s. You wanna join us?”

Kuroko stared up at him, then at everyone else. He was careful to control his expression.

“Yes, I would like that,” he managed to say. He knew his voice sounded odd. Tight, and a little higher than usual. “If—if that’s all right.”

“Pff, obviously.” Aomine gave his most careless shrug. Somehow, Kuroko couldn’t help thinking of the last time Aomine had addressed him, with such forceful passion, in the same voice that now sounded so casual…

_“Damn it, Tetsu! Kagami! You guys won against us, didn’t you? If you can’t even defeat Rakuzan, I’ll go after your heads!”_

“We should make sure we all have each other’s numbers, in that case,” Midorima said, in his no-nonsense way. He took out his cell phone. “So we can decide on a date and time later. Have any of you changed numbers?”

“Hmm? You kept our numbers in your phone, Mido-chin?”

Midorima’s face gave an odd sort of twitch. He turned to eye Murasakibara. “And what exactly would have been the point of deleting them?”

“I don’t know. It’s just kind of surprising, is all.”

Midorima’s face twitched again, but then Akashi spoke up for the first time. “I haven’t changed my number. The rest of you haven’t either, I believe?”

Kuroko remembered how Akashi had contacted them, on the first day of the Winter Cup. Clearly, Midorima wasn’t the only one who had kept their contact information.

“Nah.” Aomine had already whipped out his cell. “Hey, Kise. Send me that coffee shop’s address, would ya? In case I forget to ask later.”

“Oh, sure.” Kise unlocked his phone and started typing. “Hang on a sec, I just need to look it up.”

Kuroko had tried to imagine this moment once or twice—tried to picture what it might be like, if it actually happened someday. But he had never been able to. Now he understood why. The conversation was so ordinary, at least on the surface. Yet a dark pressure swelled beneath each word, a tension that Kuroko could feel, shivering on his skin.

All six of them knew how significant this was. But no one wanted to acknowledge it out loud.

Still, it was better than nothing. Much better.

“Okay, I sent it to everyone,” Kise said after a moment. “You too, Kurokocchi.”

“Thank you,” Kuroko said. He dug around in his bag for his phone. Sure enough, there was a mail notification on the screen. _“Message from Kise-kun.”_ Kuroko had received the occasional mail from Kise since leaving Teikou, but it still felt a little strange to see the notice, as though he had gone back in time.

Aomine snorted, inspecting his screen. “You still use way too many emoticons.”

“That’s just my signature!” Kise said. “I didn’t put any in the message.”

“Isn’t that weirder, though?” Murasakibara also gazed down at his phone. “Because then there’s a line of happy faces under every mail you send…”

“He’s right,” Midorima said. “It’s weird. And that’s why I don’t like getting your ‘good luck’ mails, by the way. Since you asked before.”

Kise just huffed. “I don’t want to hear about being weird from _you_ , Midorimacchi.”

There was a soft noise, something like a hum. It was a laugh, Kuroko realized. Akashi’s laugh, to be precise—a gentle, refined chuckle. Kuroko hadn’t heard that sound for well over a year, probably closer to two.

“Well.” Akashi was smiling. “I suppose the meeting place is settled, then?”

The rest of them murmured in agreement. Kuroko sensed that he wasn’t the only one gaping at their former captain.

“And we’ll be in touch for the rest,” Akashi added. He glanced at Kuroko, with an almost hesitant look. As though he wanted something, but didn’t know how to ask for it. Again, Kuroko was strongly tempted to speak up…

“Kuroko! Hey!”

Kuroko gave a jolt, and turned to the source of the sound. Across the hall stood Ogiwara, his childhood friend. He gave a wave and came closer—then stopped, as though he had just noticed that Kuroko wasn’t alone. (That had always been the odd thing about Ogiwara-kun. He seemed to be able to see Kuroko without much trouble. Even when he was standing among the Generation of Miracles.)

Kuroko glanced back at his former teammates. A few of them eyed Ogiwara—again, Kuroko couldn’t read their expressions, or begin to guess what they could mean—but Aomine was watching him. He sighed, and nudged Kuroko on the shoulder.

“Go on, Tetsu,” he said. “We’ll see you later.”

Kuroko hesitated. He looked to Akashi, who gave a nod. “Please, go join your friend. We’ll meet again soon.”

Somehow, the way he said it hit Kuroko in the chest, with an unexpected burst of emotion. He felt his face break into a smile. The kind of smile that was rare for him, one that stretched the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, all right,” he managed to say. “Please excuse me, then. For now.”

He turned and hurried down the hall, to where Ogiwara stood. Ogiwara grinned at him, with that sunny smile that Kuroko remembered so well, and moved toward him. Suddenly they were both running, like the distance between them couldn’t close fast enough. Then they were laughing and hugging, and Ogiwara was ruffling his hair and Kuroko was punching him lightly in the shoulder, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“I had no idea,” he said. “No idea you’d come here. Why did you? After everything—”

“Because I wanted to see your win,” Ogiwara said, with simple certainty. “I read your interview in _Monthly Basketball_. You weren’t in the photos that much, but I could tell you were a lot happier with your new team. I was glad. And I knew you guys would make it to the finals.”

He hesitated for a moment, then scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry I didn’t show up earlier,” he said. “I was going to call you, but I kind of chickened out.”

“Please, don’t apologize.” Kuroko shook his head. “And _you’re_ glad? What about me? Are you really—I mean, the basketball—”

“Yeah, I’m playing again,” Ogiwara said. “I took some time off from school clubs, but I kept doing local stuff. Y’know, for fun. I joined my high school team a few months ago.”

“That’s great,” Kuroko said. “Really great. I’m…. I’m relieved. After what I did—”

His voice shook. Ogiwara rested his palm on top of Kuroko’s head.

“Hey, cut that out,” he said with a frown. “No more blaming yourself, okay? You always do that. Everything’s cool now.”

Kuroko managed a nod. “Yes. Okay.”

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. In the pause, Ogiwara looked away, to somewhere past Kuroko’s head. He had an odd expression on his face—a bit tense, but more like he was searching for something. Kuroko followed the line of his eyes, only to see the remaining members of the Generation of Miracles going their separate ways.

Kise waved at Kuroko again, as he passed by them in the hall. Murasakibara was already gone, and Midorima was talking on his phone as he marched toward one of the exits. To Kuroko’s surprise, Akashi stood right where he had left him; he was watching Kuroko intently. Then he turned and disappeared through a side door, vanishing into the night. Kuroko swallowed, unable to shake the feeling that something was troubling the red-haired captain.

Aomine was still there, hovering in a corner. Suddenly Kuroko realized Momoi was with him. She was talking to Aomine, with a rosy smile on her face. She glanced at Kuroko, and her smile widened and her eyes shone. Kuroko felt himself smile back at her. As though they were both thinking the same thing…

_It’s going to be all right now, isn’t it?_

She waved a bit, then mouthed, “We’ll talk later.” He nodded, and she took Aomine by the arm and led him away.

Ogiwara watched them leave.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he murmured. “The ice is all melted. That’s good.”

He squeezed Kuroko’s shoulder. Kuroko stared at him, wide-eyed. He had wondered if Ogiwara still remembered that, if he had any idea how that simple sentence had changed the course of his life:

_“I was powerless against those icy eyes, but Kuroko can face them again and melt them someday.”_

“I have to thank you,” Kuroko said, the words spilling out in a rush. “Because of what you said back then.” His voice caught, as the memories flooded into his brain, but he shook his head and kept talking. “I was going to quit. I didn’t want to play basketball ever again. But when your teammate told me what you said, I changed my mind. If you hadn’t said those things…”

He cupped a hand to his forehead. His eyes were stinging, to his embarrassment.

“I was going to give up on them,” he whispered.

Ogiwara’s expression softened. He looped an arm around Kuroko.

“Hey.” He rubbed his elbow. “Don’t ever do that, okay? Don’t give up on them, no matter what. They’re important to you. Anyone can see that.”

Kuroko managed a smile. Because it was true. Painfully so. And maybe there was a chance that it wouldn’t be as painful anymore.

Anything seemed possible now, really.

“Besides, they’re not bad guys,” Ogiwara added. “I knew that much from the start.”

Kuroko’s mouth slipped open. It seemed unthinkable, given what Ogiwara had been through, that he could say something like that. And with such warm conviction, as though he had never once doubted it. Even though he’d never met the Generation of Miracles personally. (Unlike Kuroko, who believed the same thing, because he had spent three eventful years in a basketball club with them.)

“How could you possibly have known?” he said.

“Because you told me, remember?” Ogiwara chuckled, like the answer was obvious. “You told me all about them in your messages. You would never talk about a bunch of jerks like they were your friends.”

He glanced down the hall. His face darkened, as though he was remembering something.

“Anyway, I could just tell,” he said. “Even when I was playing against them. Something was off. I’ve met bad people before. They mostly just seemed… Well, miserable, I guess.” 

Kuroko gazed at him, marveling. No matter what Ogiwara said, most people wouldn’t have bothered to notice that a bunch of arrogant, invincible players who had mocked them were in pain. They certainly wouldn’t have cared enough to mention it to anyone later, or hope their situation improved—whether those players were friends of a friend or not.

Kuroko was starting to wonder how he knew so many miraculous people.

Ogiwara brightened then, and Kuroko couldn’t help thinking of a sunlit sky. It had been raining for such a long time, he thought. Ogiwara pulled him into another hug.

“You did it, Kuroko,” he said, beside his ear. “You’ve won. Trust me, you’ll see.”

Kuroko’s throat tightened. He knew what Ogiwara meant, instinctually somehow, and it had nothing to do with clinching the championship. For a moment, he was worried he might actually burst into tears. He forced himself to laugh instead, even as a few drops escaped. If this really was a dream, he hoped he would never wake up.

“Do—do you want to come with me?” he said, wiping at his lashes. “My team is going out to celebrate. They would be honored to meet you. I… I told them about you.”

“Good, that means no awkward explanations, then.” Ogiwara’s eyes twinkled. “Are you kidding? Of course I want to! I can’t wait to meet all of them. Especially that Kagami guy. The two of you are close, right?”

At the mention of Kagami’s name, Kuroko felt his chest swell with warmth.

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “Very much so.”

“So—is he—?” Ogiwara raised his eyebrows, in a suggestive sort of way.

Kuroko blinked. “Is he what?”

Ogiwara looked at him for a moment. Kuroko could have sworn he seemed amused, like he was about to reveal some kind of gigantic inside joke. In the end, though, he just shrugged.

“Never mind, it’s nothing.” He thumped Kuroko on the back. “Come on, we should find your teammates. They’ll be missing you.”

Kuroko was about to say that his team probably hadn’t noticed he was gone, but then he stopped himself. He realized, all at once, that they most likely _had_ noticed his absence. They were used to looking for him—and they would want to make sure he was there with them, now more than ever.

Somehow, that thought made him happiest of all.

**End of Part One**

* * *

_**Up Next:** Kuroko meets with the Generation of Miracles, as promised. Will it go smoothly, or bring up nothing but bad memories?_


	2. Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you need to say “I’m sorry,” but you have no idea where to start. After the Winter Cup finals, Kuroko meets with the Generation of Miracles. But old wounds and a year of separation have damaged their former friendships. The distance between them may be too far to bridge—and at least one of them has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the full notes on this fic, see Part One [on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/126402632092/the-bridges-between-us-part-1-of-3-knb-fic).

Clouds hung like a woolen blanket in the sky, and the wintry air chilled Kuroko’s fingers. He had forgotten to wear gloves, somehow. (He had probably forgotten a lot of things, but this was the only one he’d noticed so far.) He blew on his hands as he walked from the train station, to a coffee shop he had never visited before.

With each step, he tried not to think too hard. Or let his heart beat faster, or give in to the increasing temptation to turn and run. None of this showed on his face, he knew. To random passersby, he looked perfectly straight-faced and calm. Even the way he walked didn’t betray the growing weakness in his knees.

But he felt it. Every bit of it. Most of all, he felt how foolish it was. He had no good reason to be nervous, about something as simple as meeting a group of people in a coffee shop. Under ordinary circumstances, he never felt this way.

And maybe these weren’t ordinary circumstances. Maybe they were anything but ordinary. Or normal. Or reassuring.

Still.

_Stop this. There’s nothing to be anxious about. They’re your friends._

_… Well, all right, so maybe they don’t think of you that way anymore. But they **were** your friends, and they’re good people, and everything is going to be fine._

He arrived at the coffee shop, much faster than he would have thought possible. The front of the shop had two large windows, revealing a modest interior of wood and warm-toned upholstery. The overall effect was cozy and old-fashioned—not what Kuroko would have expected, from a place Kise frequented. (Or a place where he apparently got free food, come to think of it.)

Kuroko took a step toward the door, then halted. He couldn’t see any of his former teammates through the windows. The coffee shop was crowded, though, with both people and furniture. It also had high-backed booths that made it difficult to see all the occupants. He took out his phone to check the address again.

_You’re just stalling, aren’t you?_

He drew a deep breath. He would go in as soon as he checked the address, he told himself. He flipped open his phone, with his fingers clumsy from the cold. Yes, it was the right address. He pocketed his phone, and shook out his hands. But he didn’t take another step toward the door.

He had come all this way. Kagami had even told him good luck. He seemed to have an idea of how much this gathering meant to Kuroko, though he didn’t say too much about it. (He did offer to walk over with him, or come by afterward. Kuroko had said he would be fine by himself.) Now Kuroko just had to go inside. 

He balled his hands into fists, and walked up to the door.

The interior of the coffee shop was just as warm as it looked from the outside, thankfully. None of the employees greeted him, but Kuroko was used to that (and the ordering counter was busy in any case). He scanned the booths, only to see what he should have expected, and yet it surprised him anyway: the top of a purple head of hair, sticking up from behind one of the benches. He approached this booth without thinking, only to find Murasakibara, Akashi, Midorima, and Aomine all sitting together.

He smiled, though he didn’t know exactly why.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said. The four of them looked up, but unlike most people they didn’t give a start, or even look all that surprised. “Am I late?”

“You’re early, actually,” Akashi said, inspecting his phone. “We all were, it seems.”

“All?”

“Hey, so the cocoa is still—oh, Kurokocchi! You made it!” said a voice above his head.

Kuroko craned his neck, only to see Kise looming over him. He was balancing a tray of drinks. “Would you like help with that, Kise-kun?” 

“Nah, I got it. Here, squeeze in.” Kise nudged him toward one of the benches, while he set down the tray and started passing out coffee cups of different sizes. Kuroko took his suggestion, and sat down on the bench next to Aomine.

“Hey,” Aomine said.

Kuroko smiled at him. “Hello.”

“Are the six of us really going to try to fit into a single booth?” Midorima said, as Kise moved to sit down on the opposite bench. “This strikes me as a recipe for disaster.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Kise said, as he squished in next to Akashi. “My teammates sit like this with me all the time.”

“Your teammates don’t include Murasakibara.”

“Eh, but you’re awfully tall yourself, Mido-chin,” Murasakibara said in his droning way. “It’s weird, you know.”

Midorima’s left eye twitched behind his glasses. He looked as though he was about to retort, when another voice interrupted him.

“Ryouta-kun! Are these the friends you told me about?”

A middle-aged woman bustled up to the booth. She was rather short—around Kuroko’s mother’s height, in fact—and had silver-streaked hair piled in a messy bun atop her head. She set down a mug of cocoa, which Murasakibara eagerly grabbed.

“Hey, Tomo-chan,” Kise said. “These are my old teammates from junior high.”

“Ah, wonderful! It’s lovely to meet all of you.” The woman clapped her hands. “I told Ryouta-kun to bring his friends here whenever he likes. My, you’re all so tall. How adorable. Is there anything more I can get for you? It’s all on the house.”

“That’s terribly generous of you,” Akashi said. “Might I ask your name, madam?”

“Oh, you’re so polite! It’s Ono Tomoko. You can call me Tomo-chan, if you like.”

“Thank you very kindly for your offer, Ono-san,” Akashi said. “But since we’re your customers today, we would prefer to pay you for your work.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m broke,” Aomine muttered, and Akashi gave him a look.

“No, no, I won’t hear of it! Ryouta-kun and his friends always brighten up my shop—when they’re here.” She ruffled Kise’s hair. “You don’t come by often enough! I told you to visit anytime you want a meal. I know how hungry boys like you get. Oh, and I should bring out sandwiches. You all must be starving.”

“Yes, please,” Murasakibara said, in a singsong way that sounded exactly like a six-year-old boy. Kuroko would have thought that he was trying to charm the woman, but that was how he always talked. “Sandwiches, please. And cake.”

“Of course!” The woman beamed. “Anything else?”

“I don’t think Kurokocchi’s ordered anything yet,” Kise said.

“Who?”

“Ah, that would be me,” Kuroko said, raising his hand. The woman gave the usual start, and a double take as well.

“My goodness, I didn’t even see you there!” Instead of looking frightened, she looked as though she had just been given a surprise gift. “Did you just get here, dear? What would you like to drink?” 

“Well…” Kuroko hesitated. He didn’t drink coffee that often. He tried to remember what the usual drinks at a coffee shop were.

“Make him one of your vanilla lattes, Tomo-chan.” Kise winked. “He’ll love it.”

“Coming right up! Cakes and sandwiches too. And please, stay as long as you like. Ryouta-kun and his friends are always welcome. It’s a treat to have such nice boys in my shop.”

She gazed at them all, with her hands clasped.

“I do love rainbows,” she said with a sigh, and walked away.

They all looked at each other for a moment. Midorima raised an eyebrow at Kise, who grinned sheepishly, and Akashi’s lips twitched in an odd way. Finally Aomine let out a sound that was something like a snort.

“What in the hell was _that_ about?”

“You didn’t mention that the owner who’d taken a liking to you had a mother complex,” Midorima said to Kise, eyebrow still raised.

“Ha ha, yeah, um…” Kise twiddled his fingers. “Kind of?”

“Kind of? I’d say that’s pretty spot on.”

“I guess.” Kise hesitated, looking as though he wasn’t sure if he should say more. “She, uh… Well, her son used to play basketball, actually? She’s got a picture of his team over by the counter. And her grandson plays too now, but they live pretty far away, so she doesn’t see him that often.”

“Ah. That explains a few things.”

“But it concerns me that she won’t let us pay,” Akashi said, with a glance toward the counter. “Murasakibara alone is liable to eat her out of shop and home.”

“Ehh, but it’s not my fault if I’m hungry…”

Aomine took a swig from his coffee cup. “You worry too much, Akashi. Let the old lady dote on us, if that’s what she wants.”

Akashi looked as though he was about to scold the two of them for their rudeness. Then he just heaved a sigh and lifted his own cup to his mouth.

“Tomo-chan is really nice,” Kise said, smiling as usual. “Kasamatsu-senpai keeps trying to convince her to let us pay, but she always says no. So we sneak some money into the tip jar when she’s not looking. We’ll do that if it makes you feel better, Akashicchi.” 

Akashi’s expression softened. “I suppose it would.”

There was a lingering pause. Before anyone could attempt to break the silence, the woman named Ono Tomoko returned with a massive tray of food. She unloaded all of it onto the table, much to Murasakibara’s visible satisfaction. She also placed a coffee cup in front of Kuroko, with a honeyed, “Here you are, dear.” Kuroko was barely able to thank her before she scurried off again. He examined his cup a bit closer, and his eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” Kise said. “Is that…?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Aomine stared down at the cup.

“It’s a rainbow,” Akashi said, with an almost pained look on his face. Like he wasn’t sure whether this was funny or slightly tragic.

It was, in fact, a rainbow. The ivory foam that crested the latte had been shaped into a distinct arc, with seven separate lines. Both ends were topped with curling clouds. Kuroko felt a curious pang in his chest, but he couldn’t help but smile at the image. He kept it restrained, just a small upward tip of his mouth.

“That is _awesome_ ,” Kise declared. “I bet Tomo-chan did it herself. She’s amazing like that. I’ve seen her do a basketball and puppies and stuff. Never a rainbow though.”

He rummaged around in his coat, which was hanging from a hook at the end of the booth, and took out his phone.

“Are you seriously going to…?” Midorima didn’t even bother to finish the question. He simply rubbed his forehead.

“Um, yeah! This needs to be recorded for posterity. Also the Internet. Is that okay with you, Kurokocchi?”

Kuroko nodded, and nudged the cup on its saucer toward Kise’s side of the table, so he could take a photo. Which Kise did, and then uploaded it onto four separate websites, all the while narrating the various captions and tags he was adding to it. _“Kurokocchi’s Awesome Latte!”_ and _“Best Latte Art Ever, OMG”_ and so on. (Along with a small army of emoticons, presumably.) In the midst of the commotion, Kuroko snuck his phone out of his pocket, and snapped a quick photo or two of his own. No one else noticed, of course.

For the next thirty minutes, they ate and drank and talked… Well, the others ate, anyway. Kuroko couldn’t bring himself to do more than nibble on an egg sandwich. He was rarely hungry, even at the best of times, and his stomach felt strangely uneasy now. Kise had been right about the vanilla latte, though. It was frothy and sweet, and delicious. Kuroko drank it slowly, licking the foam from his lips. And he listened to the others. The conversation was sparse, at first because they had full mouths, and then…

Well, Kuroko should have expected it. And deep down in the shadows of his heart, he had. Because there was only so long they could go on making polite conversation, before the gaps started to appear.

It started with basketball, of course. They asked each other about practice. But no one could discuss their training regimens in detail, for obvious reasons. Then at one point, Akashi was describing Rakuzan’s goals for the new year, when he interrupted himself—something he never did. He glanced at Midorima, said something brief to conclude his thought, and changed the subject. A few minutes later, Kise got bubbly as usual, and started talking about his teammates at Kaijou. But then he seemed to realize he was using names no one else at the table knew, so he switched to clumsier alternatives. “One of our second-year point guards,” or “this other teammate of mine,” or just “my senpai.” In the end, he cut his story short too.

It was all so surface level. Just conversation. But even that wasn’t working, as the distance between them opened up like a chasm. The distance of a year and a half, that was actually closer to two. Kuroko cringed at the reality of it. Two years of not talking, of not sharing their thoughts or experiences. Of being teammates once, and knowing so much about each other… But not knowing that much anymore.

It wouldn’t have been so noticeable, except for the familiarity. The feeling that Kuroko _did_ know all of them, and the nagging sense he ought to know more.

He wondered if the others felt a little of the same thing, as they dropped one by one into silence. And there was something else, too… It had been there all along, Kuroko knew. Now in the stillness, he felt it again, hovering low over their table like a storm cloud. That dark pressure, the tension he noticed when they spoke after the Winter Cup… It weighed down on him, settling on his shoulders and aching inside his chest.

Kuroko recognized it, of course. He knew this sick, heavy sensation well. It had kept him company for months on end, once upon a time. Months when he moved mechanically, did exactly as he was told, and never once smiled. 

_“No one smiles anymore.”_

And now Kuroko was remembering, when he knew he shouldn't. Those actions were all in the past, he told himself. Everything they had done to each other. Everything they had said—or hadn’t. Yet the memories filled his mind, even so. Recollections of bored faces, and betrayed frowns. Of rain, and talk of broken plates. Of cherry blossoms, and a lie, and five matching numbers. All ones.

And silence. Most of all, silence.

_“I can’t hear the voices of my teammates.”_

Now Kuroko could see it, on all five of their faces. Their vibrant eyes had gone dim, as though shadows hung over them. It sent a chill trickling down his back, if only because those frowns were far too familiar. Like something out of his most painful memories. He suspected he wasn’t the only one recalling their last year at Teikou.

Across the way, Kise fidgeted and his gaze wandered, as though he couldn’t quite look at any of them. Akashi peered into his coffee cup, his brow creased and his head slightly bowed. Midorima sat with his arms crossed. Beside Kuroko, Aomine was slouching lower and lower in his seat. His chin was almost even with the table’s edge. Perhaps strangest of all, Murasakibara was no longer eating… Even though there was still some food left over. Which was only possible if the world was ending, Kuroko thought with dismay.

And one of them was going to speak up, he just knew it. One of them would change the subject to something trivial, and the moment would be lost. Or else they were going to talk about it, about this darkness and this distance, after so many months of silence. And Kuroko didn’t have the slightest idea which would be better. He didn’t know which outcome to hope for, much less attempt either one.

It turned out to be the second option, as fate would have it. And it came from the very last person Kuroko would have expected.

(Or then again… Maybe not.)

Kise let out a long sigh, and slumped onto his elbows, in a way he never did. And he laughed. The sound was hollow, and helpless—and entirely alien.

“So am I the only one who can’t stop remembering every awful thing I said back then?” He clutched his forehead. “Like, uh, wow. I was such a _dick_.”

They all stared at him, for what seemed like forever. Then another unthinkable thing happened. On the other end of the bench, Midorima chuckled.

“You really were,” he said, with an odd smile. Halfway between wry and genuine.

Kise flinched. Just like that, his usual pout was back. He flung his palms onto the table, and glared over at Midorima. “Hey!”

“But you weren’t the only one,” Midorima added, and the rare smile was gone now. He looked out the window beside the booth. Beyond the glass, the world was gray, colorless with the winter weather.

Kuroko’s heart stuttered inside his chest. Because finally, after all this time, someone had brought up the subject. And he knew what he needed to do, but he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to try. He closed his eyes, and pictured himself on the basketball court. Not like his first time in a competition, when he had trembled from head to toe. More like the last one, when he stood inside a packed stadium and felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, the certainty of what he had to do—and the still-burning courage to do it.

_“So you’re the bad guy.”_

Kuroko opened his eyes. And opened his mouth.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time.” His voice sounded too loud, though he spoke in the same quiet tone he always used. “If that’s all right?”

They all eyed him, in a way that struck him as uneasy. As though they were nervous about what he could have to say. Which was impossible, he knew, and must be some sort of mistake. Eventually, each of them nodded. He clenched his hands under the table, trying to ignore how clammy they were.

“I need to apologize,” he said. “To all of you.”

There was a pause.

“What the _fuck_. Are you shitting me right now?” Aomine groaned, and smacked his forehead. Then he turned and glared at Kuroko. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Tetsu. Not a single fucking thing.”

His eyes flashed, like he was daring Kuroko to argue. The intensity of that furious light nearly knocked the air out of Kuroko’s chest. He forced himself to look away, to take a shallow breath. He gathered his thoughts, the words inside his mind… Words that he had recited to his bedroom walls, night after night. Until he felt they were the right ones, that conveyed everything he wanted to say.

“That’s not true,” he managed, but his voice cracked. He drew another breath, and let the words tumble from his lips. “I could have tried harder to listen to all of you, to understand where you were coming from. But I didn’t. Instead of trying to help, I barely said anything, because I was hurt by what was happening.”

He winced at the memory.

“And I acted like I was a better person,” he added. “Even though I was too weak to act on my supposed ideals. I went along with the policies at Teikou, just as much as any of you did. I was a hypocrite. Horribly so.”

He looked at each one of them in turn, though he couldn’t do it for long.

“And then I ran away,” he added, his voice pained, as he recalled the end to his time in the Teikou basketball club. “Even when I made up my mind to do better, I was too afraid to face you on my own. I could have said I was sorry, at least. For letting you down, for not knowing how to help. But I was cowardly, and avoided you instead. I let you believe I resented you. It was… uncaring. And I sincerely regret that.”

He fell silent. Suddenly he realized they were all staring at him, in a very strange manner. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend the looks on their faces. Kise sat with his mouth hanging open. Akashi’s eyes were unnervingly wide, the whites ringing all the way around his scarlet irises. Midorima’s brows were furrowed, lips pursed like he was inspecting some sort of confounding puzzle, and Aomine’s entire face twitched. Murasakibara just blinked, over and over. 

At last Akashi leaned forward. Slowly, cautiously.

“You were frightened because you had every right to be,” he said in a hushed voice. Hushed, but precise—as though he was deathly afraid he might break something, but could no longer bear to remain silent. “You ran away because we were cruel to you. I should know, more than anyone.”

His voice wavered, and he stopped speaking. Like he couldn’t continue. Which was impossible enough, but then Midorima chimed in.

“And uncaring?” he said. “Who exactly was being uncaring? It isn’t as though we listened to your concerns—which you did voice, on more than one occasion. We mocked you for them, as a matter of fact.”

Kuroko gaped at him. He would never have expected Midorima, of all people, to say something like that. As a rule, he had stayed out of those conversations. He had been cold, perhaps, but he stood by his own principles.

“Well, maybe so,” he stammered. “But—”

 _Bam._  Aomine slammed his fist against the table. More than one person jumped, as the coffee cups rattled in their saucers.

“Dammit, Tetsu, just shut up already. Stop trying to take blame for something you didn’t do.” He rose out of his seat. With every word, his voice grew louder, until he was all but shouting. “We were the ones who fucking abandoned you. Not the other way around. We were assholes, and we knew it, the entire time. We treated you like crap. Oh yeah, and we made fun of your friend’s whole damn team, _because_ _we were bored and it sounded funny_. So who should be apologizing to who, huh?!”

He hurled out the question, like it was sour on his tongue. Kuroko was speechless. He gazed up at Aomine, and his heart trembled between his ribs. He didn’t know how to feel, if he was afraid or relieved or something else. His eyes stung, then…

“I tried to crush everyone,” Murasakibara said in his droning voice. “I think I win.”

He examined his fork, then stabbed it deep into a piece of cake. It stuck there, poking out of the vanilla frosting like some kind of spear.

They all blinked. Then, improbably, they sank into laughter. Aomine snorted, then snickered, and Akashi and Midorima were muffling chuckles behind their hands. Kise practically giggled. And Murasakibara grinned, in a lopsided way they all knew meant, _Told you so,_ and then they were laughing harder.

Because sometimes everything was just so ridiculous and kind of painful that you had to laugh.

“God, Satsuki was right.” Aomine sank back into his seat, rubbing his temples like he had a headache. “We’re all hopeless idiots.”

Kise’s eyes twinkled. “Did she really say that?” 

“I think everybody says that,” Midorima said with a sigh.

Their expressions all softened. Kuroko lowered his head. He knew what had just happened. What each of them had been trying, in their own way, to say. Because he _knew_ them. He still understood them, even now. And maybe someday they would talk about it again, when it hurt a bit less. But for now, this was enough. More than enough. So he changed the subject.

“Sometimes I wonder how Momoi-san put up with us for all those years,” he said quietly.

The others murmured in agreement.

“Oh god, do you remember that one time on summer break?” Kise said suddenly. “The night at the festival? I think we were pretty much driving her crazy. But she went along with it.”

“That’s because she’s as nuts as we are,” Aomine muttered.

“Ugh, and that prize she picked out?” Kise shuddered. “The creepy bear. And the jewel thieves! Nobody believes me when I tell that story.” 

He threw up his hands, like he just didn’t understand what was so improbable about finding a piece of jewelry stashed inside a plush bear dressed like a serial killer, and then having to explain it to the police afterward.

“I’ve found that to be the case with most of our experiences,” Akashi said, in his calm way. “Like that time at the school festival, with the dresses. I tell that one whenever I want to seriously strain my credibility. On multiple levels.”

Aomine glowered at him from across the table. “Akashi. What the fuck.”

“We all swore on pain of death that we would never bring that up,” Midorima said, in a sharp tone. “Ever.”

Akashi raised his coffee cup. “As I recall, you made the others swear those oaths, not me.” He took a long sip, apparently unperturbed by the agitation of his former teammates.

“Because what guy in their right mind would bring up the fact that he had to dress in drag?” Aomine sputtered.

Akashi smiled, and gave Aomine a lidded look that could best be described as amused. “Some of us don’t find our masculinity threatened by the addition of a few petticoats and a pair of stockings.”

“Oh, shit no. You did _not_ just—”

Now they were all laughing again, and talking over each other and gesturing wildly, as they brought up every outrageous memory that came to mind. Kuroko felt something akin to awe, as he watched and listened. Because this was familiar, too. It reminded him of all the lunchtimes they spent together at Teikou, and the bus rides, and the after-game meals, and the nights at training camp. All the rowdy conversations and stupid arguments. The kind of discussion they hadn’t had in years.

He wondered how this was possible, when they had gone so long without it.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, his phone buzzed inside his pocket. Perhaps Kagami had messaged him, to ask how things were going. He took it out and flipped it open, only to see a name he didn’t expect.

_“Message from Akashi-kun.”_

Kuroko glanced at his former captain. But Akashi wasn’t looking at him. He was saying something to Murasakibara, and sipping his coffee, like before. Unlike before, though, one of his hands was tucked beneath the table, out of sight. Holding his phone in his lap, maybe. But why was Akashi mailing him in the middle of their conversation?

Kuroko read the message, which only perplexed him further.

_“I would like to speak with you after this is over. Meet me at the traffic bridge on the other side of the train station, if you would be so kind. And please don’t tell the others.”_

Kuroko pressed his lips together. He thought back to the last night at the Winter Cup, the distinct feeling he had, that Akashi wanted something from him. Hurriedly, he typed a reply, angling the screen so no one else could read it (on the remote chance that someone noticed what he was doing, for once).

_“Yes, I will be there.”_

He hit “Send,” then watched Akashi. The reaction was so subtle he almost missed it. Akashi’s eyes flicked downward. Then he shifted his arm, like he was returning his phone to his pocket. He glanced at Kuroko, but only for a second, hardly missing a beat before rejoining the discussion. No one else seemed to observe their exchange.

Kuroko pocketed his own phone, and tried to ignore the uneasy prickle at the back of his neck. If something was wrong, Akashi would tell him in private.

He forgot his worries less than a minute later, when Kise did a cheeky impression of Nijimura-senpai (namely, his reaction to a prank they once pulled on him). They all laughed again, quietly at first and then harder, until they could barely breathe. They were still trying to calm down, sharing grins with each other, when a voice spoke up beside them.

“You boys had better not be causing trouble.”

They all looked up. Momoi stood beside the booth, a hand planted on her hip. She was rosy-cheeked, likely from the cold, and still wearing her coat. Her eyes sparkled, despite her stern frown. But even that frown melted as she looked at them, until she was smiling in a way that reminded Kuroko of sunrise.

She could see it, he realized. That the ice between them was finally broken. And it made her happy, maybe as happy as he was. His heart lifted at the thought, until he felt like he was floating.

“Good afternoon, Momoi-san,” he said, and the rest of them greeted her as well.

“Hey, Satsuki,” Aomine said. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” She shook her head. “Honestly, Dai-chan. You told me to come get you when I finished shopping. My mother’s making dinner for us, remember?”

“Shit, it’s that late?” Aomine checked his phone, and the rest of them did the same. Kuroko was astonished to discover it was well past five o’clock. They all started to gather up their things, and took a final sip or two of coffee (or, in Murasakibara’s case, shoved the last remaining pieces of cake inside his ever-present bag of food). 

“Hey, we should do this again,” Kise said cheerfully, as he put on his coat. “It was fun.”

“Yeah, it kind of was, huh,” Murasakibara said.

Aomine grunted with something like approval, and Kuroko gave a quiet nod. Midorima said, “I agree, in fact.”

They all hesitated. Kuroko sensed they were waiting for Akashi to say something. Even now, they still followed their former captain’s lead—though he hadn’t been their captain for well over a year.

Akashi rose from the booth. His eyes were lowered, his expression distant. Then he took up his coat with a slight smile, and looked at each of them in turn.

“Certainly,” he said. “If you’re all so inclined. I would even suggest making it a monthly occurrence.”

“Yeah, we should! We totally should,” Kise chirped.

“Sure, why not.” Aomine shrugged, and the others agreed too.

Kuroko was silent. He couldn’t explain why, but something felt off about Akashi’s suggestion. Something in the way he’d phrased it… Still, he nodded with the others. He couldn’t help smiling, at the idea that they would meet like this every month.

They all left the coffee shop, and headed out into the late winter afternoon. An icy breeze swirled up to meet them. The sky was dark, even cloudier than before. They ambled toward the train station. Kuroko followed a little way behind the others, and Momoi joined him. (This had happened frequently at Teikou, a natural consequence of having the two shortest strides in the group.) They hadn’t even gone a block before Momoi let out a startled cry.

“Tetsu-kun! Don’t you have any gloves? It’s freezing out here.”

Kuroko blinked and inspected his hands. “Oh, yes. That is to say, I own a pair. But I forgot them at home.”

“You haven’t changed, have you?” Momoi sighed. Her breath formed a puff of mist in the cold air. “Dai-chan’s still hopeless, but I liked to think you could manage on your own.”

“I’m not sure I appreciate that comparison,” Kuroko said, with raised brows. Momoi laughed, and they both shared a mischievous smile, as they glanced in the direction of a certain blue-haired basketball ace.

“He does the same thing, you know,” she added, in a conspiratorial tone. “Well, not exactly. He doesn’t forget, just refuses to wear them. ‘You can’t wear gloves and play basketball,’ he says. What does he think he’s going to do, play a match on the train? Idiot.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, here.”

She held out her hands, which sported a pair of pink mittens.

Kuroko frowned. “I can’t take your mittens, Momoi-san.”

“I already knew you wouldn’t, silly boy.” Momoi laughed again. “That’s not what I meant. Here, like this.”

She took his hands in hers, wrapping the thick wool of the mittens around his bare skin (which had already started to take on a bluish cast from the cold). And she rubbed her fingers together, warming him further. They walked like that, side by side, their hands linked in the narrow space between them.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked.

Kuroko glanced at the rest of the group. At those five brilliant heads of hair, and the way pedestrians eyed them all as they passed. It had been a while since Kuroko had shadowed them like this. And he was no longer their shadow. But their light would always be familiar to him. Familiar, and treasured.

He thought back over their conversation that afternoon. All the starts and stops, the tense moments. The fear, the regret—and then the laughter. The shared memories. The way they agreed they should do it again.

He looked back at Momoi, and he couldn’t help beaming. “Yes. Very much so.”

“I’m glad.” Her eyes shone. “Really glad.”

She rested her head against his shoulder for a moment. Kuroko was reminded of the times the two of them had walked home from practice, alone. How they had always talked about the five people who stood in front of them now.

_“You’ll be friends forever, right?”_

_“Yes, we’ll always be together.”_

Briefly, Momoi let go of one of his hands, and wiped at the corners of her eyes. Kuroko started to ask if she was all right—he hadn’t even realized she was crying, though it seemed to only be a few tears—but then she took up his hand again.

“Thank you, Tetsu-kun.” Her voice shook a bit. “For everything.”

He knew what she meant, intuitively. He could still remember the way she had smiled at him, on the day he promised to beat Aomine-kun. And then later, the look they shared, after the championship game was over. She’d understood, from the beginning, what he was trying to do.

She understood, because she wanted the same thing. She always had, even before she asked him that fatal question, about friendships and forever.

In that way, they were very much alike.

The two of them strolled along in silence, and gazed ahead at their walking companions. It was an impossible sight—and a familiar one as well. Kise was being clingy as always, as Aomine shoved his arm away. Midorima was saying something wry to Murasakibara. Akashi glided serenely between them all.

It wasn’t exactly like it used to be, Kuroko knew. They had all changed, and that was fine. It was still its own small miracle.

“I don’t deserve your gratitude, Momoi-san,” he said at last. “I did it for my own reasons. Which were selfish, I’m afraid.”

Momoi pursed her lips. “You really think that, don’t you?”

Kuroko didn’t reply.

The breeze picked up, and they hurried to keep pace with the others. Momoi leaned in, close beside his ear.

“Tetsu-kun,” she said, softly as a breath. “Did Akashi-kun ask to meet with you? Alone?”

Kuroko gave a start. He gaped at Momoi, unsure what to tell her. The words of the message echoed in his mind:

_“Please don’t tell the others.”_

“I…”

“It’s all right, you don’t have to say anything,” Momoi said, in a hesitant voice. “I just thought he might. He’s been acting strange, ever since the finals. I haven’t been around him enough to know for sure what’s wrong. Sometimes he’s almost as hard to read as you are.” She gave him a weak smile. “And it’s been so long since he’s been, well, _him_. But I think…”

She knit her brow. Kuroko wondered if she was trying to decide what she thought, or if she had already decided, but didn’t know whether to voice her conclusions. In the end, she simply shook her head.

“Well, you should talk to him,” she said. “It’ll be all right. If it’s you.”

She gave his hands a tight squeeze. Akashi walked directly ahead of them. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation. He was in the middle of the group, not leading the others or directing their pace in any way. Yet a closer look revealed they were all keeping pace with him, like planets around a star.

So when he paused at a street corner, they all paused too. Akashi said a brief goodbye to them, something about having an errand he needed to see to, and glanced in Kuroko’s direction. Those ruby red eyes sent a shiver through Kuroko’s body—a curious shiver that felt almost warm, like a spark trailing down his spine. Then Akashi looked away again, and excused himself.

Momoi watched him go.

“Tetsu-kun.” She spoke in a whisper. “Just… No matter what he says, don’t let him do all the talking. Tell him the truth. _Your_ truth. Okay?”

As he listened to her, Kuroko stared after his former captain. Akashi’s deep crimson scarf trailed in the wind as he marched down the street. He rounded the corner, and then disappeared. Kuroko wasn’t sure he fully understood Momoi’s words, but he managed a nod. She squeezed his hands again.

Before long, the remainder of the group arrived at the train station. They said goodbye, and began to go their separate ways. Momoi gave Kuroko’s hands a final rub, and released them. She gave him a warning look.

“Pockets, mister,” she said, and Kuroko obeyed, sinking his hands deep into his coat. She leaned in, and lowered her voice. “Call if you need us. Any reason at all, we’ll come running. Good luck.”

She patted his shoulder, and Kuroko swallowed. He knew what she meant by ‘us,’ and the thought was overwhelming. That simple word felt stuck inside his throat, a rising lump. As though her offer had summoned him, Aomine came up alongside Momoi, with the usual frown on his face. 

“Hey, Satsuki, what are you doing?” he said gruffly. “You two’ve been hanging back this whole time. You better not be bugging Tetsu about some stupid thing.”

“Hmph. None of your business.” She tossed her head. “Come on, we’re going to be late. See you later, Tetsu-kun.”

“Goodbye, Momoi-san,” Kuroko said.

She nodded, smiling, and started walking toward the stairs. Much to Kuroko’s surprise, Aomine hung back. He peered over his shoulder at Momoi. His brow was furrowed, with something like suspicion. For a moment, Kuroko was worried he would press the subject—but then his expression changed. He held out his hand, and Kuroko held out his too, automatically. But then, instead of bumping their fists together, Aomine reached out and yanked him into a clumsy one-armed hug.

“Sorry,” he muttered, so low Kuroko almost couldn’t hear. He tightened his hold. “For everything.”

And with that, he let go, and hurried after Momoi.

Kuroko stood like a statue, barely able to breathe. Had that really happened? He wasn’t quite sure. He stared down at his hand, recalling the warmth he had always felt, when he and Aomine connected. That feeling surrounded him on every side, embracing him. Emotion bloomed inside Kuroko’s chest. It swelled, until he felt like his heart might burst. He pressed a hand to his face, and forced a shaking breath. His throat ached.

He had hoped for so many impossible things… He had never thought to hope for _that_.

He paced around outside the station, and shook his hands. They were trembling a little. He felt lost, all of a sudden. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself. This was probably how his gloves felt, he thought, wherever they were. Which was a silly thing to think about, but it was better than letting these feelings overcome him completely.

After a few minutes, he felt calmer. Like he could breathe properly again. The wind ruffled his hair, and nipped at his face. He looked to the veiled sky. He closed his eyes, thinking about what he had to do next. Then he headed to the nearest street corner. Toward the traffic bridge, the place he would meet with Akashi.

With every step, anticipation weighed upon him like lead. But it would be all right, he told himself. He would listen to Akashi, and find out what he wanted. It was just the next thing he had to do.

He wondered why it felt like it might be the hardest of all. 

 **End of Part Two**

* * *

 

 **_Up Next:_ ** _Kuroko finds out what has been bothering Akashi—and what Akashi intends to do about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Part 3 should be up next week. There were a ton of references to canonical Teikou events in this chapter, like the story about the bear at the summer festival. It’s from the third Replace light novel. (It’s hilarious, by the way!) The school festival incident with the dresses is referenced in a 3DS game. If you would like to read English translations of these, you can check the end notes for this fic [on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/126727586742/the-bridges-between-us-part-2-of-3-knb-fic). The rest of the quotes refer to the Teikou arc in KnB’s main storyline.


	3. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the full notes on this fic, see [Part One on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/126402632092/the-bridges-between-us-part-1-of-3-knb-fic). This chapter goes out to all the fans of Akashi and Kuroko, whether you ship them or see them as friends. I hope I did their amazing connection justice. I certainly tried my best. Also, I apologize for the delay on this part… As you can see, it turned out longer than I thought. (I should have known. Oh, these two.) Enjoy!

Kuroko climbed the stairs that led to the traffic bridge. He took each step slowly, keeping his hands in his pockets, to shield them from the biting cold. At last he reached the top. It was eerily quiet on the bridge, with no sound except the wind, and the faint murmur of passing cars.

Akashi stood halfway across the bridge. He leaned upon the railing, gazing at the cars below as they drove by. His scarlet hair rippled in the breeze, along with his scarf and the hem of his gray coat. The look on his face was familiar. Calm, thoughtful—but controlled as well. It reminded Kuroko of conversations they’d had at Teikou. How so much always seemed to be going through Akashi’s mind, so many things he would never know.

And how he always wanted to know more, but never knew how to ask.

As he approached, Akashi turned toward him and smiled. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked paler than usual, Kuroko thought. Or perhaps that was just the cloudy weather.

“Thank you for coming,” Akashi said. “I’m sorry to trouble you like this. I know it was sudden.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Kuroko said. “I’m always glad to talk to you.”

He meant it, even though his heart was pounding. Akashi studied him. His red eyes looked strangely mournful. Distant, a little downcast. They seemed so different from the eyes he had before the finals.

Everything about Akashi seemed different now. Different, yet familiar.

“You’re so kind, Kuroko,” he murmured. “You always have been. And I’m about to take advantage of that kindness, once again. It’s inexcusable.”

He sighed, and turned back to the railing.

“I asked you to come here because I wanted to tell you something,” he said. “It’s a confession, of sorts.”

He seemed to hesitate.

“I never intended to burden anyone else with it,” he admitted. “Even now, it feels ridiculous to say out loud. I always assumed no one would believe me.”

He laughed. The sound was flat, toneless.

“But I think you’ll understand,” he said in a low voice. “If anyone possibly can, you will. So I hope you’ll forgive me for telling you, against my better judgment.”

“Akashi-kun…” Kuroko wanted to say there was nothing to forgive. That Akashi could tell him anything. Because that was the truth. But his lips felt frozen in place.

He didn’t know what Akashi was going to say. But he could tell it was important. He sensed it in Akashi’s voice, the tension on his features. Even the word he had used. _Confession._ The thought made his heart beat even faster.

Still, he wanted to know. He waited, for Akashi to continue.

Akashi’s leather gloves flexed as he gripped the railing. The metal had dulled with time, and the touch of countless hands.

“You know some things about my life, I think,” he said calmly. “About my family, and the education I’ve received. So I won’t go into detail. Suffice to say I was kept busy as a child. Very busy. And I was often alone.”

He paused, and examined Kuroko’s expression.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he said. “I’m not saying this to make you pity me. On the contrary, I hope you don’t. But my isolation did prevent anyone from noticing my behavior. Or seeing it for what it was.”

Kuroko frowned. Where was Akashi going with this?

Akashi looked away, as if lost in thought.

“My mother would have seen it,” he murmured. “But she died before it surfaced. Otherwise I believe she would’ve done something. She was isolated too, estranged from her family. We were each other’s world, she and I. Until she passed on.”

He took an unsteady breath. A pang crushed Kuroko’s chest. Akashi had never mentioned his mother in any detail before. Kuroko knew she had passed away, but that was all. He stepped closer, wanting to say something, to offer some sort of consolation or comfort.

But Akashi didn’t seem to expect any. His expression hardened as he changed the subject.

“In any case, it started with my lessons,” he said, and Kuroko halted, listening. “My education involves a rather extensive array of skills. I was blessed with enough talent to succeed in every subject. But as I grew older, I noticed something… odd. Whenever a lesson required a very high level of strategy or logic, I would feel as though the answers were being told to me. As if by someone else.”

He knit his brows.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a voice,” he said. “Not at first. It was more like an urge, an instinct. But even so, it didn’t feel like me.”

He gave Kuroko a meaningful look. A chill rippled through Kuroko’s body, as he realized what Akashi meant. Why he was talking about this.

“Then I noticed it around my father,” Akashi said, slowly. “My father always had high expectations for me. He demanded absolute obedience. And when I was younger, I found it… difficult to interact with him.”

A shadow fell across his face. 

“After my mother died, I was afraid to speak with him, for a time. I dreaded our discussions… Then suddenly, it became easier than before. Things that were once difficult to say were simple. But I felt curiously detached from the words. As though my mouth was moving on its own. And the things I said were not things I would normally think.”

His expression was grim. Kuroko knew why. Because he already knew where this ended. The conclusion flashed through his memory now: 

_“I am Akashi Seijuurou, of course.”_

Suddenly, he wasn’t altogether sure he was ready to hear this story.

“Then the conversations started.” Akashi shook his head. “At first, I didn’t realize what I was doing. I assumed I was just talking to myself, like most people. I would say something when I was alone—out loud, or inside my mind—and a reply would come into my head. As if out of thin air.”

Kuroko tried not to shudder. But what Akashi said next made him start, with mingled confusion and surprise.

“It was strangely comforting.” His voice was soft now, gentle. “As I said before, I spent much of my time by myself. And my mother was gone. Suddenly it felt like I had company again. Company that understood me, intimately. So I kept talking. And after a while, I knew. I didn’t admit it to myself, even then. But I knew I was talking to another person. A second me, that lived inside my head.”

He winced slightly, and touched a hand to his brow.

“You see? Even now, it sounds absurd.” He eyed Kuroko. “Yet clearly it doesn’t sound as strange to you as it should. And we both know why.”

Kuroko couldn’t quite control his expression. Akashi nodded, as though he knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Yes, I knew even then,” he said. “About my other self. I allowed him to help me, especially around my father. Then, when I entered Teikou, he started to speak at other times. Mainly around Midorima.”

Kuroko blinked. The look on Akashi’s face grew warm.

“I’d never had a close friend like him before,” he said, almost wistfully. “Someone with whom I could be myself… Both of my selves. The other one liked him, you see. Almost as much as I did. He wanted to speak to him, to share his thoughts, the way I shared mine. And I permitted it.”

He tightened his grip on the railing, and his smile darkened.

“I still regret that,” he muttered. “It was an indulgence. An imposition, on someone I cared about. And given what happened afterward…”

He bowed his head, and his shoulders sagged. It was a rare posture for him. Almost as though he needed the railing’s support to stay upright.

“I know what my other self is like,” he said. “He frightens people. And I understand why. He… He lacks empathy. He doesn’t entirely comprehend when he’s hurting others, but he knows how to use that hurt for his own ends. And he doesn’t know how to express his emotions. It makes him seem heartless.”

Akashi’s tone was flat. Kuroko recalled the day he met the other Akashi. He had said some horrible things, things that still hurt to think about. But he also handed Kuroko a towel, and told him not to catch cold. There had always been something odd about him, an inconsistency to his behavior.

As though he didn’t always realize the cruelty of the things he said and did.

“I have no interest in making excuses for him,” Akashi said. “But I have realized part of why he’s like that. I only let him help me during the times when my emotions were a hindrance. Otherwise, I kept his interactions with others to a minimum. It’s no wonder he never learned more about emotions, or empathy. In that respect, he’s actually quite childish.”

Kuroko’s mouth slipped open. He had never thought of it that way. The other Akashi was so intimidating. Menacing, even, at times. Yet it made sense somehow. He even called himself ‘boku’ when he talked.

Akashi gave a strained smile. Then he flinched, in an odd manner, and looked to the side. As though something was distracting him.

“Hush,” he mumbled.

Shivers trickled over Kuroko’s skin. He had wondered what had happened to the other Akashi. It seemed he was still capable of speaking—even if only the old Akashi could hear him.

Akashi rubbed his temples, and his brow.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I… I think of him like a little brother, almost. A troublesome one. Whose actions I must apologize for.”

He gave Kuroko a pained look. Kuroko’s breath caught. Apart from the Winter Cup finals, he had never seen Akashi appear anything less than perfectly composed. But some people had, he knew. One rainy day in the Teikou first gym… 

It seemed that time was on Akashi’s mind as well.

“I’d like to tell you it was an accident,” he said. “That day at practice, when everything went wrong. You all assumed it was my fear of defeat, that drove me to become my other self. I’ll admit the prospect of my first loss frightened me. But it was more than that.”

He grimaced, as though it still stung to recall it. A gust of wind swept over the bridge, whipping through their hair and coats.

“I was just too weak,” he whispered. “Too weak, in every respect. I saw how the others were pulling away. Everything was about to fall apart. But I was inadequate as a leader… I couldn’t stop the disaster that I knew was coming. The match with Murasakibara proved it. And when I could longer handle a situation on my own… Well, there was only one person I ever trusted to help me.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Of course, that’s an excuse,” he said, clutching the railing. “Deep down, I knew how unkind my other self would be. I knew his methods would be coldblooded. I knew he’d keep you all together, _by any means possible_. But I was tired, and afraid. I could no longer do right by all of you… So I did wrong. I stepped down. I asked my other self to take over, and plunged into oblivion. The greatest sin I’ve ever committed.”

He bent low over the railing, until his knuckles were pressed to his forehead.

“It was such a relief,” he said. The words were slightly muffled. “Just like every other time he helped me. A burden, gone. But I knew how wrong it was. And I watched in horror, each day after that. I heard the heartless things he said to you all. I cringed when he treated you like servants. I knew what he _meant_ to do—but I knew what he was really doing. That he was breaking you down inside.”

Kuroko gaped at him. He’d never realized what it was like for Akashi—this Akashi—during their final year at Teikou. He had no idea he was watching them, _hurting_ for them, from inside his own mind. Sympathy gripped Kuroko’s chest, and squeezed his ribs like a vise.

He ached to rush forward. To clasp Akashi’s shoulder, or put his arms around him. Still he held back, barred by some force he couldn’t explain. As though the distance between them was more than just physical space.

Akashi raised his head. His face was grieved. Sadder than Kuroko had ever seen.

“I barely stayed conscious, on the day he betrayed you,” he said.

At first, Kuroko didn’t understand what he meant. Then, suddenly, it was like he was back on the court at Nationals. Dizzy and sick, with his vision blurring, as he stared at that awful scoreboard.

“I realized what my other self was going to do, even before he did. I didn’t want to see it …” Akashi shook his head violently. “But I witnessed every second, in the end. I told him over and over why he needed to stop the others, why he was in the wrong. I was all but screaming… He didn’t listen. He wasn’t in the habit of heeding my advice at that point. He no longer trusted my judgment. Understandably, perhaps.”

Kuroko could hardly breathe. He didn’t dare to speak, not when he knew how much his voice would shake. Akashi’s hands closed into fists.

“But I still could have prevented it,” he said. “And that’s the worst part.”

He beat a hand against the railing. Then he shot Kuroko a piercing look.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “All that time, I could have forced my other self to switch places with me. Whenever I saw him do something cruel, or say something appalling… But I didn’t even try. _I did nothing_.”

His eyes burned with anger. At himself, it seemed.

“So I told myself a lie. A masterful one.” His eyes were a firestorm now. “Over time, I convinced myself that I was waiting on purpose, so that you all could destroy him. You see, I had a theory… My other self existed to help me win. To always be perfect. So if he lost at something, I knew he would be devastated. Weakened. Then I would convince him to vanish forever. As the ultimate punishment for his crimes.”

Kuroko raised a hand to his mouth. Akashi nodded.

“Oh yes, that was my ingenious plan.” He chuckled dryly. “My other self had never lost. Never even tasted defeat. But I knew five miraculous individuals, who had never failed to exceed my expectations. So I had absolute faith that one of you would beat him. I couldn’t tell you why, but—for my part—I had an inkling it would be you, Kuroko. He, naturally, had no such suspicion.”

Kuroko bit down on his lip. He was troubled, but mostly confused. If this was Akashi’s plan, why had he been referring to his other self in the present tense? He had even spoken to him earlier.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Akashi said, noting his expression. “And you’re correct. Something is wrong with this story. That is my second greatest sin.”

The fire in his eyes flickered. He gazed into the distance.

“I was right, of course. When you gained the upper hand in the finals, he broke down. I intended to wait until it was all over, to convince him he was useless. But I didn’t expect…” He looked at Kuroko. “Seeing you play so brilliantly, with your new light, inspired me. I wanted to play against you. For the first time, I truly _wanted_ to come back.” He smiled faintly. “Then a chance remark from one of my teammates caused my other self to think of me. He had been ignoring me for months. So I took the opportunity, and spoke to him.”

Kuroko recalled that timeout in the final quarter, when Akashi had changed. He had watched Rakuzan bench’s from a distance, unsure what was going on. The crucial part, it seemed, had been invisible to almost everyone.

“But as for the rest…” Akashi lowered his eyes. “I couldn’t do it. I never told him to disappear. I only took his place, like before. He’s still there, inside my head. He’ll continue to exist. The person who hurt my teammates, who alienated everyone I care about. Maybe he’ll change, learn from his defeat… And maybe he won’t.”

His brows were tightly furrowed.

“But it doesn’t matter,” he said, and his voice was tight as well. “Because once again, I’m too weak to do the right thing. I—I care for him. He was my companion, for five difficult years. He helped me, when I could no longer stand on my own. And I’m too selfish to live without him. I realized that, on the day of the finals. I won’t surrender control to him the way I did before, but…”

His eyes softened. Their crimson fire had dimmed into candlelight.

“No matter what he’s done, I love him,” he said. “My foolish little brother. Such a sick, laughable thing to say. But true, nevertheless.” 

He buried his head in his hands. Kuroko’s heart ached. He thought back to what Akashi had said, about the voice that kept him company when he was younger. How he had helped him. He didn’t think his other self was evil. That much was clear.

Kuroko didn’t either.

“It isn't wrong,” he said, speaking up at last. His voice quavered. “To give him a second chance.”

“Oh, Kuroko.” Akashi let out a quiet, heartbreaking chuckle. “Don’t you understand? We’re long past second chances. Both of us.”

Kuroko frowned. “But—”

“He is not me.” Akashi lifted his head. “He did things I would never do. But he is my responsibility, and we share this body, so it makes no difference. I gave up control to him, knowing exactly what sort of person he was. Which makes every last one of his sins my own.” 

He faced Kuroko.

“We are both Akashi Seijuurou,” he said, firmly. “And Akashi Seijuurou has done things that cannot be erased. Or forgiven.”

Kuroko gave a start.

“What?” he mouthed.

Akashi sighed. “I know you won’t agree. But I regret to say that I’ve made up my mind. This will be best for everyone.”

He stepped away from the railing, and stood very straight. As though steeling himself for what he was about to say.

“Today was the last time, Kuroko,” he said. “I wanted to see everyone again, but… I cannot be a friend, to any of you. I no longer deserve that privilege. I’m sure we’ll continue to meet on the basketball court. But that will be all.”

Kuroko stood motionless. Frozen as ice.

“That’s why I wanted to speak with you,” Akashi added. “I hope you’ll explain this to the others. And that you’ll all continue to meet as friends.”

Kuroko felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his chest. Like he had fallen from the traffic bridge, and he was lying on the street below, stunned. This was it. What was wrong on the night of the finals, and at the coffee shop. Why Akashi’s suggestion to meet every month hadn’t sounded right. 

He had decided this from the beginning.

“But… but, Akashi-kun, we…” His lips fumbled for words, for some form of protest. He thought of the way they had walked together to the train station. How the others had followed Akashi’s lead, just like at Teikou. “We need you.”

Akashi’s expression hardened.

“You do not,” he said, his voice stern. “I am no longer your captain. And that title should have been stripped from me long ago. I deserted you, and left someone else in my place. Someone I knew would mistreat you. ‘Dishonorably discharged,’ I think they call it?”

He laughed, in an empty sort of way, and gazed down at his gloved hands.

“I will earn my captaincy at Rakuzan,” he said absently. “I won’t abandon them. Or fail them, the way that I failed all of you. But it will take time, and trust. I’ve resolved to do whatever it takes to earn that.”

Determination sparked in his eyes. Kuroko had seen that look many times before. Times when Akashi was still his captain.

“But there’s always the risk I could weaken,” he added. “Like I did at Teikou. I will ask my new teammates to take that risk.” His eyes narrowed. “But I refuse—no matter what the five of you may say or do—to allow any of _you_ to take it.”

His jaw clenched as he looked at Kuroko.

“I will not hurt you in that way again,” he said, voice shaking. “I absolutely _refuse_.”

Kuroko’s heart faltered, at the pain he sensed behind those words.

“But we’ve all hurt each other, Akashi-kun,” he said, desperately. “We all made mistakes when we were at Teikou—”

“And mine were the worst. Say what you will, Kuroko, but you cannot convince me otherwise.”

“That doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter who was the worst. Because even if we hurt each other again, it’s still worth it—”

“Have you asked the others?” Akashi said, in a cool tone. “I’m not certain they would agree with that.”

“They would,” Kuroko said, stubbornly.

“I wonder.” Akashi heaved a sigh. “But I’m afraid it’s irrelevant. This is my choice, and I’ve made my decision. But I should thank you. For being so kind to me, when you’re clearly upset. And for something else.”

He closed his eyes. Then, to Kuroko’s utter astonishment, he bowed. Low, and from his waist. In the most deferent posture Kuroko had ever seen, from anyone. But this was Akashi Seijuurou. Heir to the powerful Akashi family, captain of the Generation of Miracles, captain and student council president of Rakuzan.

“My utmost thanks to you,” Akashi said, in an usually polite form of Japanese. “For saving my life. There were times I considered never returning to myself—or even disappearing altogether. But your faith and determination reminded me why life is worth living, even imperfectly. I am eternally in your debt, and I shall never be able to repay you. But I hope, at the very least, that the way I live from here on out will be a credit to what you have done. I resolve to do my best, with the life you’ve given back to me. I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

He bent his head even lower. Then he straightened again.

“Thank you, Kuroko Tetsuya,” he said, in plainer speech this time, with a slight smile.

Kuroko had no idea what kind of expression was on his face. He felt numb, like he couldn’t feel most of his body. His eyes stung, though, and his chest throbbed.

“And thank you for helping the other four as well,” Akashi added. “For doing what I could not. You gave them what they needed, to love basketball again. I know how important that was, to all of them.”

He hesitated. Then he said something Kuroko did not expect.

“Of course, there are other people I should thank for that,” he murmured. “But I don’t expect I will, for most of them. I don’t know them personally, and it would be out of place, I’m sure. Intrusive.”

A look of discomfort crossed his face. Kuroko couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. But he knew what it meant…

Akashi, _this_ Akashi, had watched the matches at the Winter Cup. He had observed the way his old teammates had changed, from inside his own head. And he knew which people deserved credit for it. People he’d never met. Kuroko had met many of them, though, and their faces flashed inside his mind now, along with various memories of those matches, until he felt his heart might crack in half.

“I do know one of them, however,” Akashi said softly. “So will you tell Momoi for me? Thank her, for always supporting Aomine. And give my thanks to Kagami-san as well. For supporting you.”

Kuroko’s throat seized up. _Kagami-san._ The unexpected honorific was just too much.

“And please tell him…” Akashi paused. He looked uncomfortable again. “Tell him I sincerely regret what I did to him. You needn’t explain about my other self.”

The image of a pair of scissors flashed through Kuroko’s mind. Now he knew why Akashi looked so distressed, when the subject came up on the night of the finals. 

“He—he already knows,” he choked out. “About that.”

“Still.” Akashi smiled wanly. “Tell him I’m sorry, just the same. If you would. I could do it at our next match, but who knows when that will be.”

Kuroko cringed. “You’re really planning to only see us at games? That’s all?”

“That’s right,” Akashi said, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”

He looked like he was preparing to end their conversation, to say goodbye. Until ‘who knows when.’ The wind cried in Kuroko’s ears. Part of him felt as though he was going to crumble, and drift away upon it.

Ever since he left Teikou, Kuroko had fostered so many hopes, secreted away in his heart. They had seemed impossible, but he held tightly to them anyway. He did everything he could, to make them a reality. Now after everything, all the hard work and the failures, the victories… Was this how it ended? After their meeting in the coffee shop, Kuroko had honestly started to believe that even his most impossible wish was coming true.

That the seven of them, the Generation of Miracles, would be friends again.

It was the one thing he wanted most. The wish he never dared to say out loud. Because he knew it was impossible—but then again, so many impossible things had happened. So many miracles. 

It seemed the miracles had run out. 

_“What is victory?”_

Kuroko’s knees shook. He braced his hands against them. And racked his brain. Trying to think of something to say. To do, to prevent this. Because even though he knew it was selfish of him, and greedy, and ungrateful… 

A miracle with a piece missing wasn’t enough.

This one would be like a hole, in the very center.

Desperately, he thought of the other five. Trying to picture what they would do, if they knew about Akashi’s intentions. Every answer hit him like a blow to the chest. He knew exactly what they would do.

They would give in.

Kise would pout, then droop the way he always did, when he knew there was no point in arguing. Then he’d say, “Okay, Akashicchi,” and drift away. Midorima would cross his arms, and get angry but never show it, and say in his tightest voice, “Whatever you think is best.” Aomine might get angry—but more likely he would turn and stomp away, muttering something like, “Figures.” And Murasakibara… He would only say in a bored voice, “Fine, whatever, I don’t care.” Even though he did.

And even Momoi, one of the most stubborn people Kuroko knew… Momoi would probably lower her head and leave. With a plan to try to make it better, somehow. At some point in the future.

The future wasn’t soon enough. Not for Kuroko. 

But what could he do? He was no better than the others. He had given up before, in moments like this… Tears brimmed in his eyes. Akashi was right. In the end, it was his choice. And what could Kuroko say, to change his mind? Him, of all people?

There had always been a certain amount of distance between them. Kuroko had allowed it, accepted it. Because he held Akashi in the highest respect—and with that came an unavoidable sense of awe. Of hesitance, to approach him.

It was the same distance he felt earlier in their conversation. An invisible barrier he couldn’t cross. If that was the case, there was nothing he could do.

He would have to give up.

A voice spoke inside his mind then, so clearly that he gave a jolt.

_“Hey. Don’t ever do that, okay? Don’t give up on them, no matter what.”_

Kuroko swallowed. Those were Ogiwara’s words, from their conversation after the Winter Cup final. A second voice followed, that was even fresher in his memory.

 _“No matter what he says, don’t let him do all the talking. Tell him the truth._ Your _truth.”_

Kuroko’s lips trembled. Momoi seemed to have expected this. She was so worried…. But she had said it would be all right. She’d had so much faith in him.

What did she want him to say?

He raised his head, to look at Akashi. In that moment, he had the strangest sense of déjà vu. Like the rest of his former teammates were standing behind him. Kise, and Midorima, and Aomine, and Murasakibara. Watching, waiting.

It reminded him of that fateful night at the Winter Cup. The way the four of them had watched from the stands. Kuroko assumed they were just observing the game, nothing more… Until Aomine stood and shouted his name. Then his old teammates had cheered for him, for his team. They had believed in him—even Murasakibara, who hadn’t joined in the cheering. Kuroko knew this, somehow. 

They all believed he could face Akashi. Even if they couldn’t.

Kuroko drew a ragged breath. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised, when a familiar presence finally surrounded him. A rough voice spoke inside his head, with words that were imagined, but they might as well have been real…

_“I don’t like it when you’re indecisive either, you know.”_

Kuroko smiled. The words were warm, teasing. Filled with light.

_“Now go on, stupid. Do your thing.”_

A phantom hand pressed against his back, big and strong. It urged him forward. So Kuroko took a step, toward Akashi. It was easier than he expected. He felt steady, certain. Like a cluster of stars were shining behind him, lighting his course.

Kuroko realized, suddenly, that he would never give up. This was the single thing he was most stubborn about: his old teammates, and trying to help them. Yes, he was in awe of Akashi. He had kept a certain amount of distance between them. Like everyone did. That was why Akashi was alone, and why he assumed it was right.

But it was time to close that gap. Because someone badly needed to.

Akashi had saved Kuroko, once. Kuroko had always wanted to return the favor. He had been ready to quit Teikou’s basketball club, when Akashi helped him discover his Misdirection…

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe he could bridge the distance, with himself.

Kuroko stood directly before Akashi now. They were barely two feet apart. Akashi regarded him with a wary look.

“Akashi-kun, you gave me a piece of advice at Teikou,” Kuroko said. “About how to use my Misdirection. It changed my life, and I’ve always been grateful. So I’d like to repay you now, if you don’t mind.”

Akashi frowned, as though he wasn’t sure he ought to say yes.

“As a goodbye,” Kuroko added, in a hurried voice.

Akashi finally nodded. “Certainly.”

Kuroko squared his shoulders, and set his jaw. He pointed to Akashi’s chest.

“Show your emotions, Akashi-kun,” he declared. “Stop keeping them hidden.”

Akashi’s eyes widened. Kuroko pressed his finger into the lapel of his gray coat, directly above his heart. Just as Akashi had done to him, years ago. When he told Kuroko to do the opposite, to keep his emotions inside.

But the time for that advice had passed.

“You don’t want this,” Kuroko said, raising his voice. “Do you? Avoiding us, excluding yourself… Is that honestly what you want? Tell me the truth, please. If you respect me at all.”

Frustration bled through his voice, in a way it rarely did. Akashi gaped at him.

“Want?” he repeated. “Of course I don’t _want_ it. But that’s completely irrelevant. It isn’t—it’s not—”

He looked away. Kuroko grabbed him by the shoulders, with a roughness he had never dared to use before.

“The truth, Akashi-kun,” he said. “Stop trying to be perfect. Just say what you really feel. And then I’ll leave you alone.”

“What I really—“ Akashi grimaced. “Oh, for god’s sake, Kuroko. This is—you can’t seriously expect—”

He fumbled more with each phrase. He actually seemed at a loss for words, for once. As though he was trying to find a way around the request, to avoid answering it, but he couldn’t quite figure out how. 

“I-it just—“ he stammered. “It isn’t—”

Kuroko all but shook him. “Isn’t _what_ , Akashi-kun?”

Akashi’s eyes flashed. He broke free of Kuroko’s hold.

“It isn’t _fair_ ,” he blurted. “I never wanted this! The whole thing is such a mess. It’s an absolute disaster, and I—I never meant for any of this to happen. But it _did_ , Kuroko. I can’t undo it now. And I don’t see good what ignoring it will do, when I’ve already shown such an unsightly side of myself…”

His voice caught. Suddenly, his eyes grew wider still. At first Kuroko didn’t understand why. Then he saw Akashi’s eyes were glistening, wet with tears. They brimmed on his lower lashes, just like at the Winter Cup. Then one of the tears spilled over, and dripped down his cheek. Then another. And another…

Akashi looked utterly horrified.

“Oh god.” He took a step back, and raised a hand to his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, forget this. I don’t know why…”

He turned away. Kuroko’s heart ached. He drew closer, and lowered Akashi’s hand. Tears were pouring down his face, so quickly that Kuroko couldn’t count them.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “No one else is here. No one will know.”

Akashi’s lips quivered. Kuroko wrapped his arms around him.

“Please, relax, Akashi-kun,” he said. “Just this once.”

Akashi’s whole body sagged. He crumpled into Kuroko’s embrace, and rested his brow upon his shoulder. Before long he was crying audibly, with deep shuddering breaths. His back quaked, and he gasped for air. Kuroko held him, as the minutes passed. Akashi choked back a sob.

“I’m just so tired,” he whispered. “Of—of all of it. Of living with what I did. Trying to be perfect, when I—I’m not. I liked to think I was reasonably strong when we met. But after all of this…”

Tears pooled on the collar of Kuroko’s coat, spotted the high neck of his sweater. Kuroko thought about everything that Akashi had told him. About the burdens he had shouldered for so long.

“You _are_ strong, Akashi-kun,” he said softly. “Frighteningly so. And I don’t mean your abilities in basketball, or your many other talents. Although those are rather frightening as well.”

He shook his head.

“But no one is perfect,” he added. “And you can’t do everything alone. I wish you would stop trying.”

He rubbed the space between Akashi’s shoulder blades. Akashi gradually stopped shaking. Above them, the sky was dark, the murkiest shade of charcoal gray it had been all day. The wind had quieted, though—as if the promise of a full-blown storm had faded. Kuroko watched as the clouds shifted and blurred together.

He wanted Akashi to know he understood. He knew exactly what it was like, to hold back around people he cared about. To retreat, out of guilt. And he couldn’t expect Akashi to trust others, to open up to them, if he wouldn’t do the same thing.

Momoi had told him to tell the truth, after all.

He drew a quiet breath. 

“I have one too, you know,” he said. “You haven’t heard it yet. My confession.”

“ _Your_ —” Akashi groaned, with his face still buried in Kuroko’s coat. “Oh god, Kuroko. For heaven’s sake. After that completely needless apology—”

“Will you listen or not?” Kuroko chided.

Akashi laughed, weakly. “Very well. Go on.”

“I think you already know how I feel,” Kuroko said. His tone was distant. “About what went wrong at Teikou. I know you don’t believe I was at fault. Still, I spent the rest of that year wondering what I could have done. How I could have made it better.”

Akashi shifted. Kuroko could sense he wanted to object. He hurried on.

“In any case, I _wanted_ to help. I knew you were all unhappy. Then I received a message after Nationals. From Ogiwara-kun, my old friend. He believed I could show the five of you how to enjoy basketball again. And to do that, I decided I had to remember how to enjoy it too. That was all I knew at the time. But it was a start.” 

He thought back to those days. To that moment when he stood in front of Akashi, and admitted he didn’t have an answer yet.

“I think you know what happened after that,” he said calmly. “I joined a team full of people who love basketball. And I worked hard. I had a single goal… To defeat the five of you. So you would have a reason to try again.”

He smiled at the memories. The way he had felt, walking through the gates of Seirin, underneath blushing clouds of cherry blossoms. That faint sensation of hope, which had grown steadily, every day afterward. Each step that followed, as he faced his old teammates again, and played against them on the basketball court. One by one.

 “That was _my_ ingenious plan, Akashi-kun,” he said, with a hint of humor in his voice. “There was no solid reasoning behind it. I didn’t know how any of you would react to losing. Not for certain.” His smile wavered. “But I pressed on. Knowing how much it hurts to fail at something you love. Knowing I would make you all feel miserable… Even you, eventually. Knowing that I would ruin your perfect winning record.”

His smile was gone. Because now he had come to it. The confession part.

“The truth is, I was selfish,” he murmured. “I honestly wanted to help you. That’s not all I wanted, though. I was working so hard to beat you… To force you to question everything about the sport you loved. I hoped when it was over, you wouldn’t resent me. That was selfish enough. It was more than that, though.”

He pressed his lips together. He needed to say it. To admit it, out loud, after all this time. He took a deep breath.

“I was hoping we would be friends again,” he said. “The seven of us. Like at Teikou.”

Akashi raised his head. Tears stained his face. Kuroko forced himself to meet those red eyes, now even redder from crying.

“I must be the greediest person on earth.” Kuroko’s voice shook. “Because I wasn’t satisfied with a championship. Or a new team, that already feels like a family to me. Or a new partner I wouldn’t trade for anything. It’s only been nine months, and I can’t imagine playing without them. Even so, there’s still an ungrateful part of me that wants more.”

He swallowed. Akashi stared at him, his expression unreadable.

“I still feel so connected to all of you,” he added in a whisper. “I tried to let it go, but I can’t seem to help it. Sometimes it almost feels like having two hearts… One for my new team, and one for our old one. My present, and my past.”

He tightened his jaw.

“But it doesn’t matter,” he said. “After what I put you through, I should just be glad that you still want to play basketball. It was wrong of me, to hope otherwise. To put my feelings before yours. I really am selfish.”

There was a long pause. The wintry air was still. Akashi knit his brows, until he was all but glowering.

“That’s your confession,” he said. “That you wanted us to be friends again.” 

“Yes,” Kuroko said, trying not to cringe.

Akashi’s face twitched. He raised his eyes to the sky.

“Do you hear that?” he said, in an odd voice. “ _That_ is his sin. The darkest part of Kuroko Tetsuya’s soul. Why he needs forgiveness. I swear, I can’t take it anymore.”

He threw up his hands.

“Akashi-kun?” Kuroko’s mouth felt dry. “What—”

Akashi barked out a laugh. He gripped Kuroko by the shoulders.

“Not to worry,” he said, in a wry tone. “The heavens have spoken, Kuroko. You are hereby absolved. Of your many transgressions, though they are horrible indeed. Truly, appalling. And on that note…”

He cupped Kuroko’s face in his hands. His frown melted into a glowing smile.

“You’re the most absurd angel in existence,” he said.

The words struck Kuroko like a blow.

“A-Akashi-kun.” His knees wobbled. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” Akashi said. “Ask anyone on earth. Or heaven, it seems.”

He chuckled, thinly. The look on his face was sad again.

“And what you want isn’t wrong.” He curled his arms around Kuroko, then drew him into a firm hug. “Not in the least.”

Startled, Kuroko returned the gesture. He shut his eyes, and then the unexpected happened. His heart lightened. He had held onto that guilt for so long. Yet he could accept Akashi’s words. Maybe it was easier to forgive yourself, he thought, when someone else did. Someone whose opinion you held in high regard. Akashi didn’t resent him, for his wish. He had been so afraid he would.

But it was even more than that… As though Kuroko sensed Akashi was the only one who could truly understand the way he felt. He recalled how Akashi had said they all should keep meeting, as friends.

“I think you want the same thing,” he said, voicing his train of thought. “For us to be together. Don’t you, Akashi-kun?”

Akashi was silent. As if he was thinking too.

“Maybe we were the same from the start,” he muttered at last, almost under his breath. “Maybe we have the same weakness.”

He buried his head once more in Kuroko’s shoulder. Kuroko managed a smile. He could already guess what Akashi meant.

“Caring for them, you mean?” he said.

“Yes.” Akashi’s voice was low, burdened with emotion. “Too much. Enough to do anything. Losing them…”

He shuddered, like he was about to break. So Kuroko held him, as tightly as he could. To keep him together. Akashi clutched the back of Kuroko's coat. He gripped it with more and more force, as if letting go would destroy him.

“You’re irreplaceable,” he moaned. “All of you. You are irreplaceable to me.”

The words were shaky, feeble. Kuroko barely understood them. Yet he felt their importance. As if they had been wedged deep within Akashi’s soul for years—and he had clung to them, until they were battered and worn.

One in particular blazed inside Kuroko’s heart. It scorched him like a brand.

_“Irreplaceable.”_

That was it, he realized. The light in the darkness.

The only truth that mattered.

A spot of white drifted before his eyes. He blinked, and raised his head. Snowflakes fluttered down from the cloud-laden sky. Kuroko gazed at them in wonder. Another miracle, he thought. A simple one.

But it proved miracles were still happening. All the time.

“You haven’t lost us, you know,” he murmured, beside Akashi’s ear. “Not yet.”

Akashi didn’t respond, at first. Then he let out a strange sound, something like a whimper. Before long, Kuroko wasn’t sure if he was laughing, or crying again. He shook his head, over and over.

“All right,” he choked out. “I give up. I surrender. I’m too weak to fight you… Even though I should. Too weak, you hear me?”

He balled one of his hands into a fist, and struck it lightly against Kuroko’s back. The helpless gesture brought tears to Kuroko’s eyes. 

“You win,” Akashi said, muffled. “It’s your victory, Kuroko. Again.”

Kuroko couldn’t resist a smile, one that stretched his cheek muscles to their limit. This time, he didn’t bother to blink back the tears. Because this was the victory he wanted most. The one that made him feel like a true champion.

_“It’s not like this is the the end of everything.”_

Kuroko squeezed Akashi tightly, as the tears slipped down his face. After a pause, Akashi shifted a bit, as though he meant to move away. But Kuroko held onto him, stubbornly, and Akashi didn’t fight it. This time, Kuroko was certain he laughed, a defeated chuckle. But the sound wasn’t a melancholy one.

It was much closer to joyful.

The snow fell thickly now, swirling around them in flurries. After a while, Akashi straightened, and they let go of one another.

“My second loss,” Akashi said. “In as many weeks. This is a disturbing trend.”

His tone was wry again. Kuroko beamed at him through the tears. “Well, I don’t think there’s much risk of it continuing.”

Akashi met his gaze, and his expression softened. He reached inside his coat, and produced a handkerchief. He held it out to Kuroko, who accepted it.

“You realize we can never tell the others,” Akashi said. “About this weakness of ours. They would get ideas. That they’re important.”

“Irreplaceable, even,” Kuroko said in a teasing tone.

Akashi started. Kuroko could have sworn that a blush even graced his cheeks. A subtle glow of pink, pooling across his pale skin. Which was unheard of—and made Kuroko smile that much more.

“But I agree,” he hastened to add. “Your secret is safe with me, Akashi-kun.”

He used the handkerchief to wipe the tears from his face.

“Yours is safe as well.” Akashi cleared his throat. “Though I suspect the others already know. You aren’t very good at hiding it.”

Kuroko feigned a stoic frown.

“Really, Akashi-kun,” he said, in his most monotone voice. “I’m offended. I am an expert at concealing my emotions. I learned from a master, after all.”

Akashi laughed. And Kuroko joined him.

“Perhaps we both could stand to unlearn a few of those lessons,” Akashi admitted, a bit reluctantly.

Kuroko nodded. “I agree.”

A fragile breeze gusted over the bridge, and the snow twirled as it fell. Akashi examined Kuroko, then laughed again. He stretched out his hand, and lightly brushed Kuroko’s hair. Snowflakes tumbled down in feathery trails.

“This snow is almost as invisible as you are,” he said. “When it’s in your hair like that.”

Kuroko raised his brows. “You can see it, though.”

Akashi’s eyes twinkled.

“I can see it,” he agreed, in a way that warmed Kuroko, right down to his toes.

Akashi had always been able to see things that other people couldn’t. Him, for one. His potential in basketball, for another.

“It’s not nearly as invisible on you,” he noted, inspecting the white crystals that studded Akashi’s hair like a crown. So he returned the favor, combing his fingers through his crimson locks. Akashi’s hair felt cool to the touch—a strange contrast, to the way it resembled flames licking at his skin.

Akashi blinked at him. Suddenly Kuroko realized that he was touching Akashi Seijuurou without permission. Something he never would have dared to do before. He pulled back, unsure if he should apologize or not. Akashi didn’t seem angry… He glanced down, and noticed the handkerchief he was still holding.

“Here,” he said, giving it back to Akashi. “Thank you very much.”

Akashi shook his head. “Not at all.”

He pocketed the handkerchief. He hesitated, just for a moment. Then he took Kuroko’s hands in his.

“I should be the one thanking you,” he said. “For everything.”

Kuroko’s heart swelled. It was just like that time at Teikou, when he had thanked Akashi for helping him join the basketball team. Then Akashi  thanked him in return, strangely enough. Perhaps nothing had truly changed between them. Perhaps this was simply what their friendship was meant to be, all along. He opened his mouth to speak, when Akashi interrupted him.

“Kuroko,” he said, staring down at their joined hands. “Why on earth aren’t you wearing gloves?”

Kuroko looked down too. “Oh… I forget them. At home.”

“You forgot them.” Akashi pursed his lips.

“Yes.”

Akashi sighed. “Sometimes I honestly worry about you. Well then, I suppose there’s no help for it.”

He slipped off his leather gloves, and held them out to Kuroko.

“Akashi-kun, I couldn’t—”

“Kuroko Tetsuya.” Akashi stared him down. “Your hands are currently the bluest part of you. Which is alarming, considering your eye color. I, meanwhile, have a comfortably warm train ride ahead of me. Not to mention plenty of other gloves in my wardrobe.”

“But—”

“You _will_ take them,” Akashi said, in a tone Kuroko knew well. “That’s an order.”

Kuroko couldn’t help but smile. He still wanted to protest. But this was Akashi Seijuurou, after all, one of the few people he listened to as a matter of course. Regardless of what Akashi said about disgrace or betrayal or being unworthy of his title, Kuroko respected— _believed in_ —him. He gave Akashi a meaningful look.

“Yes, captain,” he said.

Akashi seemed to understand the significance of this. His eyes shone, with a mixture of gratitude and satisfaction.

Kuroko took the dark leather gloves, and put them on. They fit better than he expected. They were loose, mostly around the fingertips—Akashi’s fingers were long and graceful, in contrast to Kuroko’s shorter ones—but they were in no danger of falling off. The lining was velvety soft, and still heated from Akashi’s hands. Kuroko’s skin soon tingled, as it regained feeling.

Meanwhile, Akashi straightened his coat and his scarf.

“Well. I’ll see you again soon, apparently,” he said. “At the coffee shop, or somewhere else. I imagine between the two of us, we’ll be able to corral the others into meeting as often as we like. Many times over, you know.”

“Yes,” Kuroko said, unable to hide the delight in his voice.

Akashi smiled. A newborn smile, no longer eclipsed by former sadness. It was like a ray of winter sunshine. Luminous, and blessedly warm.

“Come on, then.” He held out his hand, which was now bare. “Our paths haven’t diverged yet.”

Kuroko didn’t know if Akashi was referring to their train routes, or something more. But he took the offered hand, with a smile of his own. They walked together, down the stairs toward the station. Akashi led the way, and Kuroko followed. Like always.

Up on the traffic bridge, snow dusted the railings, and blanketed the walkway. Soon the whole bridge was covered in a sheet of pure white. Until the all old cracks and collected dirt were erased, hidden from view.

Somehow, like that, the distance across it no longer seemed quite so far.

* * *

_I don’t know what it was like for you, my friend._

_But I felt it, when our eyes met for the first time. A stirring in my soul, a sense that our meeting was important… I couldn’t explain it,  even to myself. But I knew we were meant to be together. For some greater purpose, some deep reason I could not fathom. Not yet._

_It was like a thread of fate, that connected us both._

_But I understand it all now. All those strange and colorful coincidences. The painful experiences, the puzzling emotions. Why you would come after me—pursue me—even when I betrayed your trust. Why I wanted that, and why I always knew you would try. How some part of me knew that you would be the one to get the best of me, in the end. That you would have your way. That it would be your victory._

_Because you exist, in part, for me. To befriend me, to rescue me._

_There is a space in my heart that is shaped exactly like you. There always has been. From the beginning of time, we were destined to meet._

_Because the universe—because fate and providence and all the powers of heaven—knew I would so desperately need you._

**~End~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! There will be a brief bonus epilogue to this story. I didn’t plan for it, but when the idea popped into my head, I couldn’t resist... I’ll probably post it tomorrow, along with a link to additional author’s notes for this fic (including some notes about Akashi’s characterization in this part, and what I based it on, since it heavily references both the anime and the manga), which will be on [my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com). Thanks again!


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the full notes on this fic, see [Part One on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/126402632092/the-bridges-between-us-part-1-of-3-knb-fic). Here’s the bonus epilogue, as promised! I hope you enjoy it. This is my personal thank you to all of you for reading this story. It meant a lot to me to write it, so I was really happy to hear that it touched others as well. Thank you!

Kise was halfway home, when he first noticed the snow. Soft billows of snowflakes floated outside the train windows. A smile brightened his face.

“Oh wow, it’s snowing,” he said, out loud. Even though he was riding the train alone. A few of the other people in the compartment eyed him, but Kise didn’t pay any attention. He was standing already—sitting was boring—so he moved toward one of the doors, where he could press right up against the window and stare.

It was always cool when it snowed in Tokyo. This one actually looked like it had a chance of sticking to the ground. He took out his phone, and snapped a few photos. Then he noticed the pictures he had taken just before that. The ones of Kurokocchi’s latte, with the rainbow in it.

His smile softened. The thing at the coffee shop had gone well… He thought? It was hard to tell sometimes, with everyone. They were all so different. But also the same, in a weird way. Like sometimes it was hard for them to be honest with each other.

Well, Kise honestly hoped they would hang out again. A lot.

He watched the snow for a moment. It looked so white out there. Kise had always liked white, for some reason… White was supposed to be all the colors together, right? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t pay much attention in science class. (Or, you know, any class.) He started messaging people, like he always did when something interesting was happening:

 **Hey, it’s snowing! (** **ﾉ^** **ヮ^)** **ﾉ*:** **・ﾟ** **✧**

**Did you see all the snow, senpai?**

**Is it snowing where you are, sis?**

He started to text his former teammates. But then he stopped. Like he usually did, for the past year or so. And his brain went through the same old thought process… Maybe he shouldn’t send them so many messages. Maybe it was weird, because maybe they weren’t actually friends, more like enemies, sort of. And were you supposed to text your soft-of enemies when it was snowing?

Then Kise thought about what had happened at the coffee shop, and all the events of the Winter Cup. And the whole thing made him realize… He knew better, now. So he sent messages to the six of them too.

**Hey guys, did you see the snow? Isn’t it awesome?**

* * *

Murasakibara trudged down the street toward his house. It was snowing, again. Well, it was the first snow of the year in Tokyo. But it was still kind of annoying. Because it was nothing but snow back up in Akita, where Yousen was. Day after day. He was pretty sick of it.

The first time, it had been sort of interesting. Like oh hey, snow, and you could catch snowflakes with your tongue or whatever. But that got boring after like the second time. Maybe the third. Anyway, it was boring now.

Snow didn’t even taste like anything, he thought with chagrin. Plus Muro-chin always thought it was funny or something, to hit him with a snowball while they were walking to class. It was not funny.

It was only funny when he hit him back.

His phone buzzed, but he didn’t take it out of his pocket. He would check it later. He was too busy eating the last piece of cake from the coffee shop. It was good. Lots of frosting. He wouldn’t mind having more, the next time he was in Tokyo.

It was going to be a huge pain, though. Taking the train down from Akita whenever Aka-chin and the others decided they wanted to hang out. It was like a five or six-hour ride or something. So annoying.

Of course, there was less snow in Tokyo, most of the time. And long train rides meant buying lots of snacks at the train stations. And talking with the others… Well, it was sort of fun. In a way. Murasakibara thought about this for a long moment.

He decided it would be okay, to visit sometimes. Anyway, he thought with satisfaction, at least there would be cake.

* * *

Midorima frowned up at the sky, as he waited on a platform to switch trains. The snow was falling more and more heavily, in cloudlike flurries. He hoped it wouldn’t interfere with the train schedule. He kept checking the website for updates, over and over… Mostly as a way to distract himself.

He was trying not to think too hard, about what had happened at the coffee shop.

It had gone better than Midorima had expected. Much better, as a matter of fact. He knew he should just be satisfied with that. But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Specifically, that something was wrong with Akashi.

He no longer knew Akashi as well as he once had. And he hadn’t spoken to the old Akashi in years, for obvious reasons. But he didn’t seem all that different….

So Midorima was fairly certain his former teammate had been deeply troubled that afternoon. Not just by their conversation, which was admittedly tense at one point. But about something else. He couldn’t put his finger on it, though. He’d wanted to ask Akashi in private, but then he said goodbye so suddenly…

Midorima furrowed his brows. He slipped his hand into his coat pocket, where he was keeping his lucky item. It was a teacup, as it happened. He peeled back a corner of the handkerchief he was using to cushion it, and traced a finger along the ceramic rim. This wasn’t an especially lucky day for Cancers. So he had chosen the cup very carefully.

He had received it a few years ago. As a gift, from a dear friend.

Midorima sighed. Akashi had hardly spoken to him at the coffee shop. It almost seemed intentional, for whatever reason. He had been hoping… Well, it was foolish to think about that now. If they really were going to meet every month, there would be other chances to talk to him.

Wouldn’t there?

His phone chimed. He examined the screen, then rolled his eyes in advance. Because the message was from Takao, so it promised to be nonsense. Possibly very irritating nonsense. He opened it anyway.

**So what’s up with the snow? Did hell freeze over so bad it got to heaven too?**

Midorima squinted at the screen. He quickly typed out his reply. 

**What are you talking about, idiot?**

The answer arrived, after a minute or so.

**You know, because you rainbow weirdos didn’t murder each other over coffee. You texted me back, so you must be alive. With at least a few fingers left. Hurray, it’s a miracle! \\(^^)/ Insert puns re: your dorky nickname here.**

Midorima choked back a snort. It served him right, he supposed, for telling Takao where he was going earlier. (Although he was a bit surprised Takao had bothered to follow up about it… Well, maybe not that surprised.) He wrote the obvious response.

**Shut up, fool. It’s none of your concern, in fact.**

He scoffed as he hit ‘Send.’ Honestly, Takao wasn’t half as amusing as he thought he was. (Maybe about a fourth as amusing.) Still, he did have a point. They hadn’t killed each other, or left on bad terms, even. Midorima found himself smiling, just a little, as his train arrived. He headed toward one of the doors, and his phone chimed again. He glanced down, expecting the usual snappy retort from his teammate…

It wasn’t from Takao.

**From: Akashi**

**It was good to see you this afternoon. We really should catch up sometime—if you’re willing, of course.**

Midorima scrambled to send a reply. So much so that he nearly missed his train.

**Yes. I would like that.**

* * *

Momoi stared out the window at the falling snow. It was warm inside the train compartment, but it was clearly freezing outside. She thought of Kuroko, and how she had told him to keep his hands in his pockets. She checked her phone screen, then checked it again. Nothing.

She couldn’t shake the worry that any second, a message would appear there. Phrased very politely, asking her to please come back to the train station. Or maybe she would get a phone call, with a soft, gentle voice on the other end… 

A voice in tears.

“… Satsuki. Hey. _Satsuki_.”

She turned to her riding companion. “Yes, Dai-chan?”

Aomine sat on the bench beside her, slouching, as usual. He glared at her. “All right. What’s going on?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” She did her very best impression of ignorance.

Aomine let out something between a sigh and a groan. He leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. He was quiet for so long that Momoi assumed he had given up, or maybe even fallen asleep. She went back to checking her phone screen.

“I’m not blind, you know.”

She nearly dropped the phone. “What?”

“I’m not fucking _blind_ , Satsuki,” Aomine said, studying her through a half-open eye. “You’re worried. Something’s up with Tetsu.”

Momoi flattened her lips. “Why do you think—”

“Because I know you. How long have we been hanging out? Just cut the crap already. What the hell is going on?”

Momoi swallowed. She considered several different excuses, as well as the truth. She didn’t want to cause trouble, or start any fights… But she really was starting to worry. She opened her mouth, when her phone screen lit up at last. She scrambled to view the message…

She sank back into her seat, with a smile. 

“What was that about?”

She beamed at Aomine. “Nothing, really.”

She clasped her phone to her chest. Then she leaned against her longtime friend, and rested her head on his shoulder. Aomine scowled at her, but he didn’t move away.

Momoi watched the snow as it fell outside. All those downy flakes, that looked like angel feathers. And she thought about wishes, and stars, and bridges made of wings, that could span an entire sky.

**From: Tetsu-kun**

**Thank you, Momoi-san. You were right.**

**Everything is fine now.**

* * *

 

Kagami was lounging on the couch in his apartment, with his laptop open. He was streaming an episode of some random American sitcom, because yeah it was dumb, but every now and then he just wanted to hear some English. The real kind, with swearing.

It maybe wasn’t the best idea, though. Because those ads were seriously making him crave an honest-to-god, American-sized cheeseburger. (Well, okay, more than one.)

The curtains on his porch window were drawn back. Halfway through the episode, Kagami realized the railing outside was covered with a growing film of white. He straightened and stared, at the falling snow. Pretty soon he got up and opened the porch door. The January air hit him like a punch to the gut—god, that was cold—but sure enough, when he held out his hand, actual snowflakes landed in his palm.

Snow. It still kind of amazed him, to be honest.

He looked up at the sky. He couldn’t really tell what time of day it was, with all the clouds. So he checked his phone. It was getting late. No messages.

He frowned, and tried to decide if he should text Kuroko yet.

He didn’t want to butt in or whatever. That thing at the coffee shop wasn’t his business, not really… Besides, Kuroko could take care of himself, even if his old teammates could be assholes. They seemed less asshole-ish lately, too.

Still, he was sort of worried.

A sound distracted him. Then it happened again: a muffled knock. Kagami hurried back inside, and answered the door. It took him a few seconds to see him, but there was Kuroko, standing on his doorstep. He was pink-nosed from the cold, with snowflakes perched on his shoulders, and at first Kagami was worried. After all, Kuroko hadn’t told him he was coming over. He was usually so polite about asking.

But the worry didn’t last. Because Kuroko was looking up at him with those wide blue eyes, and his whole face was.... Well, it was basically…

Oh, right. That was the word. Glowing.

“Uh, hey,” Kagami said. “What’s—”

Out of nowhere, Kuroko threw his arms around Kagami, and locked him in a hug. Which was so unexpected, and not like him—no hello, or anything—that Kagami’s breath hitched in his throat. Kuroko buried his face in his sweater, and when Kagami looked down all he saw was that fluffy mop of pale hair.

“Thank you, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko breathed, in his quiet voice.

“What?” Kagami’s heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

“Just thank you. For everything. For supporting me.”

Kuroko squeezed him tighter, then tighter still. Kagami was kind of surprised how hard the dude could hold on. Then he let go.

“Akashi-kun told me to tell you that,” he added, with a huge smile. 

Kagami did a double take. “Wait,  _Akashi_ did? Kuroko, what the hell?”

Kuroko beamed at him.

“It’s a long story,” was all he said.

Kagami eyed him with suspicion. At least it didn’t seem like anything bad had happened. (Weird, clearly, but not bad.) He scratched the back of his head.

“Well, uh… You wanna come in? I was thinking of making hot chocolate. With the snow and all.” He paused. “Unless you had something at that coffee shop, and now you can’t eat or drink for a week.”

Kuroko gave him a look. “Actually, I’m pretty hungry.”

 “So the world is ending,” Kagami said, eyebrows raised. “All right, cool. Well, get in here. I’ve got leftovers.”

He nodded him inside. Kuroko stepped into the entryway, murmuring the usual, “Pardon the intrusion.” He took off his coat and hung it up, then moved on to his gloves. They were dark leather, a lot fancier than the kind he usually wore. More like the type Kagami’s dad would wear with a suit.

“Hey, those are nice,” Kagami said. “Are they new?”

And he didn’t really get why, but Kuroko’s eyes started to twinkle, like the gloves were some kind of inside joke. Except the joke was more like a big wonderful secret, apparently. Because Kagami had never seen the guy look so damn happy, not even after the Winter Cup. Which was saying something.

And Kuroko laughed.

* * *

_“Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,_

_The lovers, the dreamers, and me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! There were a few references in this epilogue to other stories I’ve written. Primarily the teacup in Midorima’s scene, which refers to my fic, [Fate, Fortune, and Oolong Tea](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/124098315222/fate-fortune-and-oolong-tea-knb-fic). You can read it there on Tumblr, but I also plan to post it on Ao3 shortly.
> 
> Finally, I wrote [some bonus author notes](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/128166104712/bonus-author-notes-for-the-bridges-between-us) on Tumblr, in honor of the end of this fic! So if you want to know more about the research I did for it, some of my thoughts on specific moments, and Akashi’s characterization in Part 3, please feel free to check it out. Thanks, again!


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